Back in the Saddle, Again
by Bob The Builder Of Stuff
Summary: A origin story for Mercy and McCree, and the only (serious) McMercy story on the site! Angela Ziegler is a young recruit in Overwatch, finding her way in the organization as a healer and young woman. Her life is changed forever when the young killer Jesse McCree stumbles into her life. A story of mystery, romance, and coming of age.
1. Chapter 1: Downpour

**Back in the Saddle, Again.**

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 **What to Know: This Fanfiction story has a unique format. Chapters will be presented from the perspectives of Angela Ziegler and Jesse McCree in alternating chapters.**

 **There will be more information in the Authors note bellow if you are interested. Thanks for reading, and enjoy.**

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 **Chapter One: Midnight Downpour**

Jesse McCree stumbled out of the chopper, legs wobbling as they grew used to solid ground again. It was past midnight, and raining at Watchpoint Gibraltar.

Gibraltar was hell for a man like McCree. Only accessible via sea or air, and with very little open space not taken up by Overwatch facilities. The seacraft made him seasick, and the aircraft made him nauseous as they bounced about in the coastal winds.

McCree missed the wide open spaces of Santa Fe. The great wide horizon stretching out far as the eye could see. The smell of the wet sand after a desert storm. The tumbleweeds that crinkled as they blew across the country. The great western sun setting over the mountains.

 _Better here than prison..._ He reminded himself.

The Overwatch base was his home now, and he had to make the best of his situation. McCree trudged toward his bunk, holding his hat down as the Mediterranean downpour tried to wash it away.

McCree made it to the barracks, and found his locker. He wiped the rain from his hat, unbuckled his gun belt, and unfastened his red bandana. He carefully bundled his Peacemaker revolver in his bandana, and tied his gun belt around it. He put his bundle in his locker, and perched his wide brim hat over it.

As tired as he was, McCree loved his revolver and hat more than anything in the world. He would never allow the damp sea spray of Gibraltar to tarnish his precious gear.

McCree continued past the locker room over to the Blackwatch housing unit. He nodded at the door guard and crept over to his room. Feeling in the dark, McCree found the doorknob and let himself into his bunk room.

Exhausted from his mission, and the nauseating helicopter ride, McCree found his bunk and flopped down, not bothering with the lights.

He winced he heard something crunch under his back. Kicking off his boots, McCree sat up and pulled a crumpled piece of paper off his back.

* * *

 _ **Mandatory Medical Examination: Report to MedBay-3 at 700 HOURS**_

 ** _Do not eat before appointment!_**

 ** _Please arrive on time!_**

 ** _Check boxes if you have a history of..._**

 ** _[] fainting_**

 ** _[] breathing problems_**

 ** _[]…_**

* * *

McCree flung the paper away and groaned.

 _A goddamn early morning appointment right after a 17 hour stakeout! Who does that! Overwatch! What a goddamn collection of morons..._

McCree turned his head and checked the digital clock on his desk.

 _3:00 AM_ the clock read.

 _Just a quick nap..._ McCree told himself. _I'll have a chat with those scheduling bastards then..._

McCree shut his eyes, flopped back down, and fell asleep.

* * *

McCree grimaced in his sleep. Flashbacks. Unwelcome memories that haunted him in his sleep. Traumatic Stress Disorder the eggheads called it.

McCree himself didn't believe it at first. He always assumed that those mental disorders happened to old soldiers. Too many fights and a man got his brain addled. But then again, all things addled the mind in excess. He wasn't worried about it back then.

 _A dark Mojave highway blockaded with sandbags and scrap metal. The rumble of an idling engine. The bright beams of the headlights illuminating the road. Thunderous gunfire. Muzzle flashes that blinded the eyes. Shattering glass. Ringing ears. The metallic smell of blood in the air._

 _McCree couldn't remember the name of his employer now, but he remembered the way he slouched over the wheel, brains splattered over the cab. The semi truck's horn blared into the desert, shrill voices shouted over its din. Bits of brain and tissue spattered the inside of the truck, dripping off the roof of the cabin onto his face. He tried to spit out the blood in his mouth, but he couldn't move. His ears rang, and he was vaguely aware of evil men knocking the doors in with crowbars..._

 _He was in a steel cage. The dusty Mojave air parched his throat. The western sun heated the rusty metal and burned his skin. A train lumbered on through the desert, uncaring to his suffocated pleas for water and shade..._

 _Killers. Hard eyes that examined his withered body. His head rolled on his neck, limbs unresponsive to the hard hands that prodded them. An argument. A gunshot. A bag thrown over his limp head._

 _Water. Water. Water that brought him back to life... He could see them clearly now. Memories clear as Colorado springwater._

 _Camille Salazar. Jason Goldwater. Doc Mourthal. Rosita Rose. Enemies and captors then, but friends and allies in better times. Deadeyes. Killers. Outlaws. Deadlocks..._

McCree awoke in a daze. Daylight cascaded into the bunkroom through a porthole window in the ceiling. Groaning, McCree fought the impulse to doze off again, rolling onto his side. His damp clothes had crusted onto his skin, and he found himself wishing that he had changed out of his dirty outfit before he had called it a night.

McCree sat up in his bed, feeling a familiar ache on the back of his shoulder. Black and blue bruises had materialized overnight, unhealed through a restless night.

Reaching to find his boots, McCree's hand found a crumpled appointment notice.

 _Shit!_

Almost hating himself for it, McCree forced himself to look at the clock. _10:00._

Roaring in frustration, McCree stomped on his boots and got up, hitting his head against the upper shelf of his bunk.

 _Dammit dammit dammit!_ McCree cursed, _this just gets better and better._

Down the hall and into the locker room he stormed. Belt, gun, hat, and bandana equipped, McCree set out to find Medbay 3 like a man possessed.

Stomping into the medical building, McCree demanded to know where Medbay 3 was. Directed down the hall, he almost kicked the door down when he saw an empty waiting room lobby.

A plumpish older looking woman sat behind a front desk, separated by a labyrinth of waiting room chairs. Sporting a hideous pair of purple horned glasses and some tacky librarian looking garb, the woman frowned across the room.

"I'm here for an appointment. Jesse McCree." he informed the secretary.

"Jessy...?" the secretary replied blankly. "I don't see your name in our system. Who sent ya?"

"Who sent me!? Some damned medical egghead assume! Who the hell schedules this kind of bull shit right after a mission!"

The secretary looked at him crossly. She turned her head back to her computer monitor and ignored him.

McCree briefly imagined a gruesomely pleasing scene where he pulled out his revolver and emptied six bullets into the stupid woman's face. He missed being a hot headed outlaw sometimes.

Admitting defeat, McCree found his crumpled appointment notice. Failing to control his temper, he slammed the document onto the counter, making the secretary jump.

The woman avoided eye contact, and slid the paper closer for inspection. She silently studied the document, and then slid it back over to him.

"Tardy. Just typical for you operative agent types. Too good for the rules." She spoke slowly and lifted her head to make eye contact through her stupid glasses.

McCree felt his seething rage grow, and it took everything in him not to reach for his revolver. He gritted his teeth and stared the woman down, leaning over her desk menacingly.

"Watch yourself woman." he threatened darkly.

The secretary didn't back down. She met his gaze unapologetically. Several moments passed, and she began to speak.

"We will get you the next available appointment. Take a seat and I'll tell you when we're ready."

McCree hated that. The way she acted like nothing had happened. He absolutely positively loathed the fact that some uppity secretary in some shitty clinic could call his bluff, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

Back in the West, you could settle things this way. Have a stare down. Draw a gun. Kill or be killed in a fit of passion. McCree liked that. He had a tremendous rage, great aim, and a great gun.

Feeling strangely self-conscious, he raised his head and backed off, noticing movement in the corner of his eye. A bright blue eye spied at him through a cracked door, disappearing a moment after he found it.

McCree pretended not to notice, and turned away from the counter. He took a seat in one of the saggy waiting room chairs and stared at the wall.

He couldn't explain what had just happened. These volatile outbursts just occurred from time to time. He couldn't control his anger when it started rolling through him. He just didn't want to. It felt good to have his heart pound in his chest. To feel the red hot rage, to tremble in anticipation of a fight.

McCree couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place right then. He needed some fresh air, and there was no way he could emotionally beat himself without some cigar smoke on his tongue.

McCree reached into his vest pocket and found a crumbling cigar stub. Acknowledging the dirty look from the secretary, McCree got up and strolled out of the waiting room.

Outside, the sun was still high in the sky. Seagulls squawked in the clear blue sky, and waves crashed down on the dark stones of Gibraltar. McCree breathed in the damp sea air and lit up his cigar. The salty Mediterranean air filtered nicely through his Cuban cigar, and McCree felt at peace for the first time that morning.

Nicotine withdrawal often made him irritable. Combined with his lack of sleep and food, it was no wonder he felt so itchy for a fight.

McCree tried to push his angry thoughts from his mind, but couldn't shake his emotions.

"Why do I keep doin' this to myself" He wondered out loud. He wasn't always this way. He had just spent too much time around the wrong people. Or that was what he told himself.

 _Deadlock Gorge off Route 66. He had been with the gang for a full year then. Finally trusted enough to carry a gun without a dozen barrels pointed at his back, and finally respected enough to not be beaten every other day._

 _The Deadlocks were all about survival of the fittest. Any upstart wannabe gunslinger could join the gang, but they never lasted long._

" _In the gorge, a man is entitled to what he owns" Goldwater had said. "Nothing more and nothing less."_

 _That was easy for him to say. He was the best killer in the gang. A quickdraw faster than a racing roadrunner. Eyes as dark and sharp as obsidian. No one tried to make Goldwater's loot their own. Everyone knew that was a death penalty. Rumor had it that Doc. Mourthal had stopped attending quickdraws with Goldwater involved. There wasn't any use in stitching up a man cut in half by six rounds of five-hundred magnum._

 _In the gorge, men had to be strong. Being part of the gang wouldn't protect you from being robbed blind or shot in your sleep. Men had to sleep lightly, make friends with the right people, and create a terrible reputation for themselves. If you couldn't protect yourself, body, mind, and possession could all be lost in the blink of an eye._

Gazing out into the sea McCree finished his cigar slowly, puffing away slowly to avoid charring the dry tobacco. He finished his cigar after what seemed like an eternity, dropping the remaining stub from his lips, crushing it under his spurred boot.

Looking up, McCree realized that he had been lost in thought for longer than he had realized.

 _High noon..._ McCree scowled.

* * *

 **Authors notes** :

 **Quality and Editing** : I plan to make this THE definitive Mercy x McCree (or McMercy) FanFiction for many years to come. I will be constantly editing all chapters for grammar / spelling / better wording until the story is completed. The story will be slow at times, but it will be full of depth, detail, and good believable lore. McMercy isn't a popular ship, but its a very unique ship. It deserves something to call its own.

 **Chapter release** : I'm planning on releasing two chapters every weekend for the rest of 2016. You should get one chapter on Saturday (usually a McCree chapter) and another on Sunday (Usually a Angela Z. chapter), each chapter having a unique character POV as always.

 **Context for the Story (No spoilers)** : This FanFiction work takes place over several years, shorty after Jesse McCree and Dr. Ziegler are recruited by Overwatch. The story may seem: Overly contextual at times, too metaphorical, or just slow. All of this is on purpose. I'm not here to inflate word counts, be assured that anything you see as extra fluff is there for a reason.

 **Completion** : If you've taken a peak at my profile, you may have noticed that I have a bad habit of not completing my Fanfiction Stories. Rest easy readers. I've been working on this project for about two months now in my off time, and I have about eight finished chapters as of 11/5/2016. This story will be completed, and you will NOT be left with a half finished story. So I swear.

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 ** _"Stendarr's mercy be upon you, for the vigil has none to spare."_ \- Vigil of Stendarr, 2011 _  
_**


	2. Chapter 2: Vigilant

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

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 **AN: This is the first Angela Z. (Mercy) POV chapter.**  
 **Content Warning: This chapter contains explicit sexual content.**

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 **Chapter 2: Vigilant  
**

Angela bit her lip, trying suppress her growing smile. Before her, Wilhelm Reinhardt was struggling to find a way to sit comfortably on her exam table.

"Alas! This table is too small for a man of my size!" Reinhardt complained, "Big men need big tablez! Was anyone thinking when they built this base? British! British engineering, just what you would expect from those little tea drinkers!"

Reinhardt fidgeted on the table a few moments more, but suddenly decided to pick up the entire table. Grunting from the effort, Reinhardt dead lifted Angela's equipment, moving it to the center of the room. He set the table down a bit too roughly, and then flopped down onto it, his legs and arms hanging off the edges comically.

Angela obliged herself and laughed at Reinhardt's predicament. "Oh, Reinhardt you must be more gentle with my equipment!" she scolded, "I'm new here they don't want me breaking things!"

"You didn't break anything my dear." Reinhardt rebuked, "I will move the table back when we are finished, and if anyone gives you any trouble about it, you just tell them it was old Reinhardt being rough with the equipment again."

Angela grinned at the chivalrous knight, and nodded at him. Angela had found her first real friend in Reinhardt. Always returning from missions covered in scrapes and bruises, Reinhardt constantly needed medical attention. The Overwatch Medical Command had decided that she was the perfect person to see to the task of patching up the crusader practically every other hour.

Angela didn't mind the task at all, as she and Reinhardt got along famously. They spoke in their native German for hours, joking about precision German engineering and Swiss neutrality. Reinhardt was always in a good mood, generous and kindhearted under his rough and tumble look. He was something uplifting in the gloom of Gibraltar.

Angela absentmindedly listened to her patient's war stories as she worked her way down the medical checkup checklist. Angela loved Reinhardt like family, but she was also growing frustrated. The medical command seemed to ignore her, only keeping her busy with the burden of a rambunctious crusading knight.

When she was recruited by the Overwatch Medical Command at the ripe age of 17, Angela had initially been excited. An organization that strove for world peace, with incredible funding and resources. Bases around the world, with intelligent and brave people working to save the world!

Angela knew she would have to prove herself when she signed up, but she had been doing that most of her life. She had proven herself when she entered medical school at the age of 14. She had proven herself when she left that medical school a year early to learn advanced surgery. She had to proven herself again when she rose to the head of surgery in the Swiss national hospital.

But Overwatch was different. Here the medics were grim and battle hardened. They had seen men live and die for noble causes, and they simply didn't trust some blonde babygirl in the field, medical prodigy or not. So for the last year, she had been patching up her friend, searching for a way to prove herself.

Angela sighed heavily and furrowed her brow in frustration. She knew she deserved better. She knew she could do so much more than this.

"Angela dear, are you doing alright?" Reinhardt interrupted.

Angela snapped back to reality, her gloomy thoughts left behind. "I'm doing just fine Rein, just fine. Thanks for asking."

"Angela..." the knight warned, "I know you better than that. Tell me what is troubling you."

"Really Reinhardt, I'm fine! I'm sure of it!"

"Is it some boy?" Reinhardt persisted, "If it is you just tell me and justice will be done!"

She smiled at her chivalrous friend. "No you old crusader! There is no boy, you shouldn't tease me so. Besides, if there was a boy I wouldn't ask you to sort him out. I would just end up with another patient for me to stitch up."

"Ahh ha ha! of course you wouldn't tell me..." Reinhardt boomed, "The lad would end up as paste on the wall!"

Angela grimaced at the thought and finished her exam. Reinhardt was the picture of health, still going strong at the age of 41.

"All right Rein, you are looking good so far! A few years of fighting still left in you I'm sure! Do you have any other questions for me before you leave?"

"I have more than a few years my dear!" Reinhardt rumbled as he got up. "No questions from me."

"Be safe out there Reinhardt, your precision German engineering won't protect you forever."

"Oh don't you worry about me little Angela. You just tell me if any of those boys trouble you again."

"Stop teasing me!" Angela laughed, "I won't ask you to take up arms on my behalf. The Swiss are neutral."

Reinhardt laughed heartily and lumbered out of the exam room and down the hall.

Angela picked up her clipboard and decided to call it a night. As she went to turn out the lights, she realized that Reinhardt had forgotten to move back her exam table.

Rolling her eyes, Angela flipped the light switch and locked the door.

* * *

Angela awoke with a start, eyes blinking rapidly in the dark. Her heart pounded in her chest as her alarm clock bleared a shrill buzzing tone. Wincing in the dark, she reached over and punched the snooze button.

 _Military..._ Angela thought to herself sourly. _Could had picked some nice wind chimes to wake me up, but they need a damned war siren!_

Angela hated that clock. No matter how many times she woke up to those shrill tones, she could never get used to something that mean waking her up so abruptly. Calming herself down, Angela closed her eyes and let her heart slow from its pounding pace.

Why did she need to be up so early? Angela struggled against her groggy urge to sleep and tried to remember.

 _Health checkups... Seven O'clock. Need to get ready... Have to be... Professional...?_

Angela wanted more than anything to stay in bed that morning. But she knew that she couldn't fail at her task. These routine health checkups were the start to her Overwatch career. She had to start small and prove herself to be a mature health professional. That, and work on her project.

Stumbling out of bed ungracefully, Angela fumbled her hands over the wall, searching for the light switch. Finding it, she flicked on the lights, wincing against the glow of the fluorescent tube lights. Eyes squinted, Angela did her best to pick out some clothes. A white on blue polka dotted blouse, and a knee length black skirt felt about right for a Wednesday.

Angela grabbed her towel off its hook and stumbled into the bathroom. Clothes dumped unceremoniously on the counter, Angela turned on the shower and stepped into her tub.

The hot water felt good on her skin, and Angela felt blessed for having her own bathroom. Being only 17 when she joined Overwatch, the higher ups figured that Angela was too fragile for the public showers and baths. They didn't want anyone " _taking advantage_ " of her.

She was supposed to be kicked out of her private bed and bath suite the moment she turned 18, so some higher up administrators could move in. But her 18th birthday had come and gone many months ago, and no one had evicted her yet.

Angela smiled in satisfaction, closing her eyes and enjoying the steam. She loved her private bed and bathroom more than anything. Well except for her four function detachable shower head...

Lathering herself in soap and shampoo, Angela rinsed herself as she hummed the melody of her favorite Swiss pop song. She then pulled out her shaving razor and tidied herself up. Finally, she cut the water and detached her shower head, grinning wickedly at the four function knobs.

 _Rapid pulsating? Slow pulsating? Directional jet? Massager? Hmmm..._

Angela felt her face grow hot stupidly. Somehow she always managed to embarrass herself with her own dirty thoughts. Mind racing in anticipation, she decided on the slow pulsating mode. She sat herself down in the draining tub and pressed the device in between her legs, letting the warm water jets stimulate her body.

Angela felt the warm water press against her in just the right way. It pulsated, pushing hard and then soft in a steady rhythm. Angela let her mind run free with dirty thoughts. That handsome and charming commander Morrison. That devilishly sexy Hollywood actor who she loved so much. The rugged and dangerous looking man who sat near her during lunch days ago. That beautiful and exotic Ana Amari who lived a few doors down.

Angela let her mind run wild as the water jets flashed waves pleasure down her hips and into her legs and back. Her back arched in pleasure, tingling sensations traveling down her spine making her neck tingle and head feel fuzzy. Her legs felt hot and clumsy as they quivered in anticipation.

Her mind wandered for a few moments more, before settling on an erotic scene from a movie she had seen long ago.

 _Some strong dangerous secret agent man was fighting a seductive assassin woman. They were fighting and kicking each other, grappling and choking one another. They tumbled in a dark moonlight bedroom, and the man finally caught the assassin woman and pinned her to the ground._

 _He had her pinned, strong muscular arms holding her restrained at the shoulders. The assassin woman panted and struggled against him, her breasts rising and falling under her skin tight cat suit. The man started to say something, but the woman used her unrestrained head to head butt him hard in the mouth. Grunting hard the man pressed his forehead against hers, preventing her from swinging it around again._

 _They looked into each other's eyes for a moment and realized their mutual attraction toward one another. They kissed violently, and began pulling and struggling again, wrestling and tearing off clothes. They made love like animals, the man having his way with the woman, and then the woman having her way with the man. They kissed and fought under the moonlight, coming together in blissful embrace on the floor._

Angela felt herself come to fruition. The heat in her hips exploded outwards, radiating all over her body with an electric tingle. Her head felt clouded, like her consciousness had been washed away in a wave of sensation. Eyes unfocused and moist, she felt herself salivate as her mouth opened in an involuntary gasp. She felt her legs quiver distantly, hands trembling as they attempted to hold the shower head in place.

Angela let her muscles go lax as the pleasure melted out of her body, seemly flowing away with the warm water that brought it life. She felt her head clear again, and she absentmindedly lifted an arm to turn off her water jet.

Angela let herself bask in the steam, only getting up once the water on her skin began to chill her.

 _Such a stupid movie…. So unrealistic..._ Angela thought, _I should go watch it again sometime… just for kicks of course…_

Angela toweled herself off, and lathered herself thoroughly with her favorite vanilla scented lotion. After drying her hair, applying a bit of makeup, and putting on her clothes, Angela decided to pursue her collection of jewelry. Accessorizing herself with a set of black marble earrings and a two simple silver bangles, Angela checked herself in the mirror felt good about herself.

Stepping into her red work flats and donning her lab coat, Angela huffed and headed off to work.

It was a beautiful morning that day. Blue skies, with a gentle coastal breeze easing salty Mediterranean air into her nostrils. Angela smiled at the sky, and pulled her lab coat closer to her torso, fighting off the morning chill.

At a quick stop at the mess hall, Angela procured a cup of tea and some honeyed oatmeal in a paper bowl. Gulping down her unsweetened tea in a heartbeat, Angela chewed at her oatmeal as she took her usual path down to the medical building.

The oatmeal was satisfyingly warm against the morning chill, and Angela was glad that there was no milk in it. Angela was a vegan of course. "A healthy lifestyle starts with healthy food" she always told her patients.

Tossing her empty bowl into a waste bin by the door, Angela meandered her way through the maze of chairs in the Med Bay 3 lobby.

"Hello Dr. Ziegler." Janice the secretary greeted.

"Hello Janice!" Angela replied cheerily. "How are you this morning?"

"Doing well, yourself?"

"Zuper!"

The women smiled at each other, and Janice buzzed Angela past the lobby and into the medbay. Angela loved Janice for being someone to occasionally talk to in the otherwise empty medbay. She also loved the way she called her "Dr. Ziegler" when none of the other staff seemed to care about her mastery of the medical profession.

 _Let us see here... first appointment... Jessy Me cree? Jessie Mcgee? Jesse Mc cree...? Mc...? Like Mcdonalds? Typical doctor handwriting. Like hieroglyphics illustrated with a melting crayon._

Angela pondered over the strange American name on her appointments sheet. She usually only had her crusading friend on the document, but today was different. Angela had never heard of a _Jessie Me Cree_ before, but she supposed that she would figure out her new patient in due time.

Glancing at the clock, Angela figured that she had some time to work on her project before Janice brought her a new patient. Finding her work locker, Angela pulled out her laptop and immersed herself in her 3D modeling program.

 _Valkyrie_. The project that Angela had been working her way up to for all these years. A cutting edge set of equipment that combined lifesaving nanobiology, protective armament, medical mobility, and a fashion statement all into one.

The nanotechnology was done. So was the design. The only thing that remained was to build a working prototype. A proof of concept. Something that she could bring before the Overwatch Medical Command to prove herself again.

Torbjörn Lindholm was of course the man for the job, but Angela wasn't really sure about how to approach the stocky little man. Torbjörn had his heart in the right place, but he could be rude and abrasive at times. Angela was certain that she would have to endure years of sarcastic quips about dumb "blondie girls" if the master engineer found any structural failures in her _Valkyrie_ schematics.

So Angela revised, reviewed, and reconstructed her suit again and again. Perfectionism and work ethic had gotten her far in life, and she was sure that it would lead her to greatness again in her design.

Angela worked for a time, completely absorbed in her work. She fidgeted and checked the clock from time to time, mildly annoyed that her patient was late. She continued to work, a dainty scowl souring her face. The scowl deepened as the hours passed, and Angela found herself gritting her teeth in frustration by the tenth hour.

 _Boom!_

A startlingly loud sound cut through the hallway and made Angela jump in her seat. Closing her laptop swiftly, Angela crept out into the hall.

 _Did something fall? Is Janice alright?_

Angela could hear raised voices coming from the front desk down the hall. Walking as silently as possible, Angela crept down the hall and stopped before the lobby entryway. Slipping out of her flats, she got on her knees, and peeked through the crack of an ajar door.

" _Watch yourself woman._ " a man threatened darkly. Angela felt a shiver go down her spine, as her heart rate elevated.

A dangerous looking man was leaned over Janice's desk, a wide brim hat hiding his face. Covered in sun faded leather and muddy clothes, the man had a huge gun on his hip, and a red bandana around his neck.

 _Are we being robbed?_ Angela thought, trying not to panic. Men addicted to drugs would sometimes do anything to get another fix of opioid pain medication.

Angela looked closer, trying to keep herself anchored in reality. There was clearly some kind of a cowboy outside, physically threatening her secretary with a big gun. Should she call security? How did he get in the Overwatch base anyway?

Angela's heart was racing by now, but she was reassured by her secretary friends nonchalant body posture and steady gaze.

"We will get you the next available appointment. Take a seat and I'll tell you when we're ready."

Angela felt as though her heart was about to pound out of her chest. She hated confrontation. She hated violence and meanness. She kept her eye fixed on the robber and almost had a stroke when he abruptly backed off the desk and glanced in her direction. Angela threw herself away from the door, and winced in pain as her backside landed on the pointed heels of her red flats.

After rolling in pain for a few moments, Angela got up and composed herself again. She was fairly certain that those pointy heels would leave some bruising on her backside, but she tried to ignore the pain and pretend that she had not been eavesdropping.

Risking one last peek through the door crack, Angela felt relief at the sight of an empty waiting room lobby and a swinging exit door. Easing the door open, Angela placed a hand on Janice's shoulder and leaned over the older woman to make sure that she was okay.

Janice was clearly a bit rattled, but otherwise seemed to be unharmed.

"Dr. Ziegler, your rescue is a bit late. You catch any of that?"

"Yes Janice I saw him. I wanted to make sure you were alright? You are, correct? That man didn't hurt you or anything...?"

The secretary smiled grimly, and laughed off Angela's concern. "Dr. Ziegler I've been staring down men like that my whole career in the army. Psychiatric problems if I've ever seen them."

Angela bit her lip and thought. She knew that Janice had worked in a military Psychiatric center before her time at Overwatch. Or she had hinted at it during their conversations. She couldn't tell her much about her past, it was " _top secret"_ she claimed.

"Who was that man?"

"Some Jessy McCree. Medical command scheduled him for a check up with you this morning. I thought I put it on your appointment sheet...?"

Angela felt her stomach lurch. _That was Jessie Me Cree?_

Angela had no desire to do anything ever with that brigand, whoever he was.

 _Be professional..._ she reminded herself.

As much as she hated the thought, treating a combative Overwatch agent successfully might be the break that she needed to prove herself to the medical command.

Currently, no one in the medical command trusted Angela to hold her own under fire in the field. They wouldn't change their minds if she cancelled her appointment with some rough and tumble Overwatch agent at the first sign of trouble.

Angela realized that she was still gripping Janice's shoulder, and that she had clamped onto the woman like a lifeline.

Relaxing her grip sheepishly, Angela patted Janice on the shoulder and retreated into the hall. She briefly thought about waiting in her exam room, but then decided to wait in the waiting room with Janice. No point in them weathering the storm apart.

Grabbing her laptop, Angela took the seat in the lobby chair closest to the front desk. Her sore bottom sank into the plush cushions soothingly. Popping open her laptop, Angela decided to put off her _Valkyrie_ work for the moment. She was more interested in doing a bit of medical record sleuthing on this _Jessie Me Cree_.

Searching several times under different spellings of _Jessie Me Cree_ , Angela eventually found his file under _Jesse McCree_.

* * *

 **OVERWATCH MEDICAL COMMAND MEDICINAL RECORDS : FOR MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS ONLY**

 **Name : Jesse McCree**

 **Gender : Male**

 **Height : 6 feet 1 Inch | 185 cm**

 **Eyes : Brown**

 **Hair : Brown**

 **Date of Birth : March 17th, 2040 | 20 Years Old**

* * *

 **Class : Agent 3rd Class**

 **Date of Recruitment : October 18th 2060**

 **Specialization : Gun fighting | Combat | _SECURITY CLEARANCE II REQUIRED_**

 **Skills : Close Combat | _SECURITY CLEARANCE IV REQUIRED_ | Survivalist**

 **Division : _SECURITY CLEARANCE V REQUIRED_**

 **Accountability and Disciplinary Officer : Gabriel Reyes **

**Commanding Officer : Gabriel Reyes**

* * *

 **Occupation at time of Recruitment : Outlaw**

 **Previous Criminal Documentation : See Expanded Forms**

 **Criminal Record : **

**\- Death Toll: 30-40 | Unconfirmed: Conflicting Reports |**

 **\- Highway Robbery**

 **\- High jacking Transcontinental Rail**

 **\- Banditry**

 **\- Arson**

 **\- (expand to see more)**

 **Disciplinary Actions in Country of Origin : **

**\- Prison | Served three months,** **United States Federal Penitentiary, Beaumont** **, TX.**

 **Disciplinary Actions in Overwatch : **

**\- Current Disciplinary actions: _SECURITY CLEARANCE V REQUIRED_**

* * *

Angela scrolled down the document slowly, eyes greedily scanning the records. Her eyes widened at the amount of classified "eyes only" protocols contained in the document. Her mouth was left wide open when she found an extensive criminal record.

 _Forty murders! Robbery! High jacking! Arson! How...? How could they let him in...? This monster..._

Angela felt her face grow hot and her hands tremble. Her teeth gritted and her brows furrowed together sharply. She _hated_ Overwatch that moment. How could anyone let a man _this evil_ join their organization? This man was a common killer! How could he ever contribute to the noble goals that Overwatch strove for?

 **\- Prison | Served three months,** **United States Federal Penitentiary, Beaumont** **, TX.**

That line stung Angela's heart painfully. Evil triumphed too often. There was no justice in the world.

Angela did her best to look engaged with her laptop. She bit her quivering lower lip and fought against tears. She was thinking about her parents again. How they had been murdered. How their killers were faceless strangers who would never be punished for their crimes. How good people suffered while villains could seek medical care in her exam room.

Angela let her downtrodden thoughts spiral themselves out for a while as she aimlessly scrolled through Agent McCree's medical records. She felt a bit more collected once her wave of emotional thought had run itself dry.

She knew that she would have to perform her usual procedures on Jesse McCree, but that didn't mean that she had to like it, or that she had to be nice to the man. Angela blinked at the clock in the corner of her laptop. It was noon.

* * *

 **"Stalin expects us to stand here! Soldiers of the red line!"**


	3. Chapter 3: Charmer

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the second Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thank you!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Charmer**

McCree huffed as he kicked the dust from his boots. He had to head back for his appointment, but he was not at all looking forward to it.

McCree knew that he had to apologize to the secretary woman somehow. The trouble was that he didn't know how to go about it without letting it come off as a formality.

 _I can't let the woman get off work without an apology of some kind... if word of this reaches Reyes I'm done for here... I have to be a kiss up. Have to make it look like I care…_

McCree rehearsed and brainstormed apologies of varying sincerity as he strode back to MedBay 3. He wanted to be prepared, but he also didn't want to overthink it. If his apology came off too charmingly the secretary woman would probably assume that he had been practicing for the past hour or so.

And there was no way he would let that smug woman think that she had gotten the better of him.

Arriving at the MedBay, McCree eased the door open and tried to look casual. He scanned the room and noticed that there were now two people in the waiting room. The plump secretary woman was still camped out behind her desk, but there was another girl now.

A blonde. A pretty blonde. Long legs. A high dainty looking face. Smooth skin and a well-defined body that stretched the fabric of a white lab coat. Like a predator appraising prey McCree took inventory of the woman as he made his way closer.

McCree's entire attitude changed in that half a second. He would have gladly kissed the secretary woman's feet if it would've improved his chances with this blonde girl.

Striding through the labyrinth of plushy chairs, McCree made eye contact with the secretary and took of his hat as he approached the desk. He took a knee before the counter, making sure that the blonde got a good view. Hat crossed against his chest, McCree bowed his head and put on his most heartwarming _"I'm a suck up"_ face.

"Oh Madame, I just wanted to return here and apologize for the way I was behaving before. I've just been having a rough start to my day, and well, there's no excuse in me hollering at you that way when I was at fault. Can you forgive me?"

McCree made eye contact, and noted the half grin half smirk that the woman gave him. She appreciated the effort, that was a start.

"Sure Mr. McCree I forgive you. Now please get up. Our good doctor is waiting on you."

"Thank you miss..." McCree said, standing up. "What may I call you?"

"Janice."

"Well thank you again Miss Janice, I appreciate you putting up with the likes of me."

McCree turned on his heel and slapped on his hat again. He dropped his suck up face and got ready to put up his signature ' _charming cowboy smirk'_ as he approached the blonde. Before he could do so, the thought of charming the blonde girl was slapped away from him.

The blonde girl was already making eye contact with him. Her piercing blue eyes stared up at him defiantly, her beautiful face soured by a look of pure contempt.

McCree was caught off guard, and his head jerked back in surprise. He looked away from the girl as she stood from her seat.

 _What the hell did I do to make her so pissy?_

McCree met her gaze again and he knew.

 _Blue eyes… of course…_

McCree felt his mood worsen again.

"So, are you going to take me to the Doc. Miss...?" McCree asked, clinging to his crumbling charming cowboy facade.

"I am the _'Doc'_ Sir." the blonde girl stated coldly. "Follow me if you will."

McCree beat himself mentally.

 _Of course the blue eyed blonde girl is the Doc. Made a damned fool of again. How old is this little lady anyway? How the hell is she a Doc? She must be a nurse or something right?_

McCree found himself wondering about how much of the argument the blonde doctor had heard. Too much he assumed. Those cold blue eyes and chilly accented voice made that clear enough.

McCree admired her frame as he followed her past the waiting room and down the hall. Her hips swayed enticingly as she walked, and McCree wished that her lab coat wouldn't obstruct his view.

Arriving at an exam room, the blonde doctor gestured toward an exam table in the center of the room. McCree lumbered over to it and took a seat, wincing as his spurred boots scraped the sheet metal coverings on the bottom.

The Doctor seemed to be taking her time getting ready, so McCree observed her through the corner of his eyes. She took her time putting away her laptop computer. She then found a clipboard and wasted time looking for a pen even though there were several on the counter behind her. Finally, she spent a long time finding and equipping a pair of latex exam gloves.

After what felt like an eternity, the doctor strode over and wordlessly looked him over. Her face was still covered in a deep seated scowl, and her eyes radiated bitterness at him. McCree avoided her gaze and cleared his throat.

"So Doc do you have a name or anything?"

The blonde turned away from him to retrieve a stethoscope from a drawer and seemed to ignore him entirely. Just as McCree was about to write her off as a lost cause, she replied coolly.

"You may call me Dr. Ziegler."

"Nice to meet your acquaintance Dr. Ziegler. I'm Jesse. Jesse McCree"

Dr. Ziegler curled her lips at him and poisonously smiled. "I'm aware of that _Sir_."

 _Sir. No Jesse or Mr. McCree. Sir. She's a tough nut to crack._

* * *

 **"And so Donald took the Clinton Firewall and shattered it over his knee. "Ha!" He proclaimed! "No more Taco trucks on every corner! No more Ramadan or legal weed! Down with Mexico and Up! Up! Up! with the Wall!"**


	4. Chapter 4: Keloid

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the second Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Keloid**

Angela occupied herself by analyzing the rest of Jesse McCree's medical records. She was mildly surprised by how young the man was.

 _Man. Ha. More like a boy. An overgrown killer boy._

Jesse McCree had somehow managed to become a menacing outlaw by the age of twenty. In her 19 years Angela felt that she had managed more than this boy could ever hope to achieve.

Angela felt her neck go stiff as the waiting room door opened. She could hear spurs clink as heavy leather boots fell against the floor. Despite her efforts at belittling the bandit cowboy, Angela couldn't help but feel intimidated as the hulking killer strode past her. Keeping her head pointed down at her laptop screen, Angela rolled her eyes to observe the cowboy.

The man was filthy, save for a surprisingly clean red bandana. His riding leathers were splashed with mud and what appeared to be crusted blood. His plaid button down shirt was clearly ripped in some places, with several buttons missing. Covered in grime and dirt, darkly tanned skin looked as beaten as boot leather. His tangled sooty brown hair was overgrown, and his facial hair was sloppy. Angela wrinkled her nose at the strong aroma of tobacco smoke.

 _A killer, a slob, AND a smoker... Just great…_

Angela watched as the cowboy strode over to the front desk, spurred boots clinking all the way. She was surprised to see the man take off his hat and bow before Janice.

 _What the hell is he doing?_

"Oh Madame, I just wanted to return here and apologize for the way I was behaving before. I've just been having a bad start to my day, and well, there's no excuse in me hollering at you that way. Can you forgive me?"

Angela felt a mixture of relief and confusion. She had been expecting more confrontation. Not… whatever _this_ was. Angela looked away and listened carefully as Janice forgave the man.

 _Oh what a suck up…_ Angela thought. _I bet this sly bastard practices before a mirror. A common snake charmer. A degenerate hooligan. Probably doesn't even own a mirror. Or a shower based off his hygiene._

Angela felt her attitude change, her intimidated weakness was replaced with a fiery resolve. She had nothing to fear from this common snake of a man, and she had no issue with letting him know what she thought of him. She dug her eyes into the back of the cowboy's dirty head, and got ready to assert herself.

The cowboy turned his head away from Janice, and Angela could see a satisfying flash of surprise in his eyes. He broke eye contact for a moment, but recovered quickly. Putting up a disarming smile, the cowboy acted as though nothing was amiss.

"So, are you going to take me to the Doc Miss...?" He asked.

"I am the 'Doc' Sir. Follow me if you will."

Already off her chair, Angela snatched up her laptop and started down the hall wordlessly. She wouldn't oblige her captive with small talk or pleasantry.

Angela tried her best to walk rigidly at first, but her sore bottom ached in protest. She obliged her body and relaxed her hips, praying silently that the sleazy cowboy was looking elsewhere.

Arriving in the exam room, Angela directed the outlaw to her still out of place exam table. Angela went to find her clipboard, and almost bit her tongue as spurred boots scraped along the bottom of her expensive exam table.

Angela procrastinated for a few moments and thought about how she wanted to approach her exam. She had been avoiding the thought, but the lack of information in her patients medical file meant that she, as his first real primary care provider, would have to do a full medical assessment.

Angela knew what that meant, but she checked her clipboard hoping that somehow she wouldn't be responsible for some of the procedures.

* * *

 ** _Overwatch Medical Command Protocol: All new Overwatch personal must have a complete medical file with included medical history information. History_ _MUST_ _include:_**

 ** _-Records of past injuries. (Special interest in how injuries may affect performance within Overwatch)_**

 ** _-Allergies & Known reactants_**

 ** _-History of Genetic predispositions and congenital Diseases_**

 ** _-Testing for Sexually Transmitted Diseases_**

 ** _-Basic Medical Information: Resting Blood Pressure, Respiratory Function, Pulmonary Function, Cardiovascular Function…_**

 ** _-Sensory Function Testing…._**

* * *

Angela skimmed over the document incredulously.

 _Up close and personal for a full day of work... Zuper…_

Angela risked a sideways peak at the cowboy as she pulled on her latex gloves. If his skin was as dirty as his clothes suggested, she wouldn't be able to finish her exam while maintaining good hygiene practices. The thought of performing an STD exam on a phallus covered in mud and grime made her gag.

 _Our sleazy cowboy needs a shower…_

Angela picked up her clipboard and strode to her exam table, trying to look as confident as possible.

"So Doc. do you have a name or anything?" the cowboy asked.

Angela internally wanted to scream at him, but found her manners as she went for her stethoscope.

"You can call me Dr. Ziegler." she replied.

"Nice to meet your acquaintance Dr. Ziegler. I'm Jesse. Jesse McCree."

 _I know your name your murderous mongrel…_ _what kind of a stupid name is Jesse McCree anyway..._

"I'm aware of that Sir."

Angela smiled bitterly and reached for her stethoscope. Popping in the earpieces, she tested the white plastic diaphragm with a slight tap. Hearing the appropriate response in her ear pieces, she deemed that is was safe to start her mission.

"Please remove your shirt."

"Sure thing Madame Err… Dr. Ziegler."

Angela watched as the cowboy undressed, doing her best to seem uninterested. Angela noted the way he carefully untied his red bandana and folded it into his hat. The ripped plaid shirt was torn off without any such care, revealing a tanned and hardened body.

Angela felt something stir within her as she eyed over Jesse McCree's strong form. Angela caught herself and averted her eyes, attempting to think of other things.

 _Why does he need bullets in his hat? So stupid…. And why does his belt say BAMF? Tacky…. And who brings a giant gun to a little clinic anyway? Typical macho man. Must be compensating for his tiny brain…._

Angela returned her gaze to his chest, avoiding any awkward eye contact. McCree was a very well built young man, that Angela could not deny. Richly suntanned skin covered a bed of scarred and bruised muscle. It was clear that this man had never seen the inside of a gym. All his bodily strength came from constant and rigorous physical strain.

Angela swallowed, alieving her suddenly dry throat. Pressing her stethoscope diaphragm against McCree's bulging _pectoralis major_ , she listed to his heartbeat. Everything seemed to be in order there, so she moved her scope down to listen to his lungs.

 _Nothing out of the ordinary… let's check from behind._

Angela pulled her scope away and walked around her exam table, glad for once that Reinhardt had moved it. Angela noticed her patient grow stiff then. His back arched rigidly, and his hands moved to grip the edge of the table.

 _Oh no…_

Angela grimaced as her eyes found McCree's back. Scars covered his back, crisscrossing in X shapes from the shoulders to the hips. There were darkened scars concentrated around the left shoulder area, and it was clear that some severe trauma had occurred there.

Angela felt nauseous then. This looked like something out of a domestic abuse case. But she knew better.

 _A victim of flogging. Whipped and lashed a dozen times at least… and the shoulder? How?_

Angela felt shaky as she approached his back and examined closer. Some deep muscular damage had occurred here, and some of the muscles had not healed properly. The shoulder in particular appeared to be trouble.

Angela remembered her purpose and continued her heart lung examination. She didn't want to make her patient self-conscious just yet. Placing a single finger on her patients back, Angela set out to find the _Triangle of Auscultation_ in the tangle of scarred flesh on her patients back.

 _Lets see…. Latissimus dorsi…. Here? Here? Ahh right there. And the Trapezius is… over here? Hard to tell for sure…. And the scapula under here…. Hmm…._

Angela ran her gloved fingers over McCree's back, pushing and prodding to find the ideal spot for her stethoscope. Eventually successful, she pressed the diaphragm down and listened.

 _Boom! dum! boom! Dum! boom! dum! boom! dum! boom! dum…_

Angela pulled her stethoscope away from McCree's back. His heart was pounding hard and fast, as if he had just finished running a marathon. Angela took a step back and noticed that her patient was still rigid, almost frozen in time.

Cautiously Angela stepped her way around the exam table, making an effort to have her red flats snap against the tile floor audibly. McCree's face was strained, his jaw clenched, and his eyes pressed shut tight enough to make his skin wrinkle.

"Sir…?"

No response.

"Mr. McCree…?"

Still nothing.

"Jesse? Are you doing alright? Can you hear me? Jesse?"

Angela felt relief as her patient gasped and opened his eyes. Busying herself with her clipboard and pen, she gave her patient a moment to recover himself.

 _Migraine? Seizure? Glucose Shock? Withdrawal?_ Angela felt her medical mind whirl with possibilities as she scribbled on her clipboard. After a moment had passed, Angela decided to press her patient for relevant medical information.

"Mr. McCree can you please tell me about the injuries on your back?" she asked professionally.

"Got thrown from the saddle, and my old bronco dragged me a quarter mile." he said with an amiable grin. "My own fault really, I scared the poor fella."

Angela looked upon his face and saw the lie plain as day.

"And what of your shoulder? How did it sustain so much trauma?"

"Well, old _Toro_ was always a kicker. He knocked me a few times before I got up."

 _Why is he lying?_ Angela wondered. She suspected that her rough and tumble patient had never received professional medical care, and therefore didn't know about the importance of not lying to a medical professional.

"Mr. McCree, please be honest with me. I can only help you if you tell me how you sustained these injuries."

"I just told you. I had a riding accident. A bit embarrassing, but it happens to the best of us out West."

"As a doctor I am sworn to confidentiality. Please Sir, tell me what really happened so that I can help."

Angela noticed her patient's eyes darken as he crossed his thick arms around his chest.

"I told you Doc. Now get off my case."

"Some of your muscles have healed improperly Mr. McCree. If left untreated you could have serious complications in several years."

"Don't you worry about me Doc." he stated dangerously. "I don't need your charity or your compassion."

Angela opened her mouth to refute, and immediately regretted the decision. Jesse McCree leapt to his feet, hands curled into fists. He towered over her menacingly and stared her down. Angela momentarily considered meeting his gaze, but her instincts told her to back off.

Angela turned away abruptly and didn't say another word. Instead of feeling the usual fear, she felt very… _flustered?_

Angela pushed the emotions from her mind, quickly concocting a plan to clean up her dirty patient and diffuse the situation. Angela lifted her hand and found the diaphragm of her stethoscope. The previously clean plastic of her instrument was smudged with a bit of dirt from McCree's dirty chest. Angela turned around and faced her tobacco scented patient.

"Mr. McCree I'm afraid that you currently lack the necessary hygiene for me to continue my exam. I request that you clean up your act and report to the medical command when you are more prepared."

Angela pursed her lips and held up her dirty stethoscope accusingly. To her surprise, Jesse McCree looked genuinely wounded by her words.

"So I'm too filthy for you Doc? You want me to reschedule with someone else so you can be done with me right?"

McCree looked at her in a tough accusatory manner, but Angela could see the wounded look in his dark eyes. Angela met his gaze wordlessly, gripping her stained stethoscope with a vice like grip.

"Well I don't get a say in how my scheduling works, and I don't get to pick who takes care of me. I'm a prisoner in this organization, and I do what I'm told."

McCree turned away and reached for his clothes. He was halfway done buttoning his shirt when Angela found her breath again.

"Mr. McCree I didn't mean to insult you. I would simply appreciate it if you... maybe... _showered a bit..._ and came back to finish your appointment."

The cowboy scowled at her through a sideways glance and continued buttoning his shirt.

"Please Mr. McCree, you don't have to go. I'll let you use our facilities if that makes it easier."

McCree paused on the last button on his plaid shirt and eyed her suspiciously.

"Why the change of heart Doc?"

Now it was Angela's turn to scowl.

"I simply wish to provide adequate medical care." Angela huffed. "Please follow me."

Angela strutted out of the exam room, and prayed that the cowboy would follow her. She felt a bit of relief as she heard spurred boots jingle behind her down the hall.

* * *

 **"A cornered fox is more dangerous than a Jackal!" -Grey Fox, 1998**


	5. Chapter 5: RoseWater

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the third Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: RoseWater  
**

McCree watched skeptically as the young doctor tested her stethoscope.

"Please remove your shirt." She asked.

That caught him by surprise. He knew the command was coming, but he was taken aback by how confidently this little doctor bossed him around. Usually women were more... _shy_... when they asked him to undress.

"Sure thing Madame." McCree thought of a teasing quip, but stopped himself. "Err… Dr. Ziegler"

McCree stood up, pulled off his hat, and untied his bandana. His beaten shirt came off, and he seated himself on the exam table again.

Dr. Ziegler wasted no time pressing the cold device against his chest. Jesse let her be, and distracted himself by thinking about what nationality his young doctor might be.

 _French? Salazar always said the French were the good looking Europeans... No... the accent doesn't sound right... German? Maybe she comes from somewhere up north? Norway? Sweden? Hmm... she looks just like that girl on the hot choco packets..._

McCree didn't know much about geography, demographics, or culture, but he did like travel. Someday, when Reyes trusted him enough for shore leave, he dreamed of wandering Europe alone.

Jesse abandoned his daydreams as the young doctor removed her stethoscope and started walking around the exam table.

McCree felt his heart jump in his chest. He had been trying to avoid the thought, but he knew this was going to happen sometime today.

 _She's going to see... the marks... the scars..._

Jesse felt himself stiffen as his mind and heart began to race.

 _Deadlock Gorge... over a year ago..._

 _Rosita Rose came to him in the night. Her hourglass figure rose and fell under his arms as he thrust himself upon her. Her lips tasted like fine Kentucky four rose. Her sleek black hair smelled like gasoline. The warm buzzing of whisky and nicotine enveloped his consciousness in a blanket of sexual bliss. The space in between her hips felt like nothing else he had ever felt in his short life. Bliss. Guilt. Fear._

 _He knew that it was Goldwater's woman in his bed. He knew that it was Goldwater's reputation he was risking with every thrust from his hips. But in that moment there wasn't a force in the world that could have stopped him from having his way with the Deadlock Gorge Whiskey Rose._

 _Morning. Broken toes and a deeply gouged shoulder. Jesse pleaded with Doc. Mourthal as he thrust his head into the stocks. Tears ran down his face pathetically as his hands and neck were bound in splintered wood._

" _I'm sorry boy. You know I am. Take this..."_

 _He opened his mouth to plead again, but the Doc shoved a chunk of leather in his mouth._

" _Chew that boy" he whispered, "better rawhide than ya tongue."_

 _The Doc. stepped away and off the platform. He heard them jeering. He heard the names, and felt the humiliation. Then the whip cracked, and before he could pray for mercy, searing pain shattered his mind._

 _The pain. The pain was the worse he had ever felt in his short life. The pain was all that existed in that moment. He bit the leather in agony and screamed through clenched teeth._

 _The whip dug deep into his back, splitting his skin under the blazing heat of the western sun._

" _Forty lashes sounds right..." Jason had laughed, "I like you boy... it would be a damn shame to see your talent wasted so... prematurely..."_

 _He was back in his bed again. Mourthal had been tending to him as he passed in and out of consciousness. His back was bandaged and stitched, but by the way the old Doc. looked at him he knew he might never be the same again._

 _The wicked Rose visited him again that night. Her hands were in his pants, her mouth licking and sucking eagerly. She whispered in Spanish, eyes alive with sadistic amusement. He gasped in pain as she squeezed his wounded shoulder and stepped on his broken toes._

" _Poor little Jesse..." she whispered in his ear. "Crippled and broken forever... Tell me Jesse... tell me it was worth it... tell me about how I'm the woman that tainted your forever... tell me Jesse..."_

" _Jesse? Are you doing alright? Can you hear me? Jesse?"_

McCree felt the flashback disappear as suddenly as it had arrived. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he felt as though he might collapse. Taking shallow breaths, McCree tried to steady himself before the blonde doctor started questioning him.

 _A story! I need a story!_ He panicked. McCree turned his mind to the past and thought of things that could explain a back covered in scars.

 _Motorbikes. I fell off my bike and got a case of road rash... no... the scars are wrong for that... I... I... I fell of my horse? I fell of my horse and got dragged over the rocks. That's it. That's what I'll tell her._

"Mr. McCree can you please tell me about the injuries on your back?"

"Got thrown from the saddle, and my old bronco dragged me a quarter mile." he said with his best dismissive grin. "My own fault really, I scared the poor fella."

"And what of your shoulder? How did it sustain so much trauma?"

"Well, old _Toro_ was always a kicker. He knocked me a few times before I got up."

McCree felt himself grow agitated. He prayed that his answer would be enough for the Swiss Missus to leave him be. His heart was still pounding away in his chest, and the cracking of a whip seemed to be ringing in his ears.

 _Leave me be woman, leave me be..._

"Mr. McCree, please be honest with me. I can only help you if you tell me how you sustained these injuries."

"I just told you. I had a riding accident. A bit embarrassing, but it happens to the best of us out West."

"As a doctor I am sworn to confidentiality. Please Sir, tell me what _really_ happened so that I can help."

" _Poor little Jesse... Crippled and broken forever... Tell me Jesse... tell me it was worth it... tell me about how I'm the woman that tainted your forever... tell me Jesse..."_

McCree wanted to scream at the phantoms. His heart continued pounding away, and he felt short of breath.

"I told you Doc. Now get off my case."

"Some of your muscles have healed improperly Mr. McCree. If left untreated you could have serious complications in several years."

"Don't you worry about me Doc." he stated dangerously. "I don't need your charity or your compassion."

McCree could barely understand what the blonde girl was saying now. Rosita was in his ears, her torturous voice drowned all else out.

 _Crippled for life..._ she whispered, her mouth sloppy with saliva. _Our handsome young killer tainted and broken forever..._

McCree felt himself stand. His heart was battering down his ribs. His ears were ringing. His hands were clenched and trembling.

 _I'm not tainted!_ He wanted to scream at her. _I'm not broken! I'm fine! I'm fine!_

McCree stared down the blonde, doing his best to stay restrained. He couldn't let himself boil over. Not now. Not here.

Dr. Ziegler turned away, and McCree felt relief. Instinctively he lifted a hand and ran it through his hair. He often felt dumb for petting himself like a girl, but it was his best method for calming himself down.

 _It's not my fault..._ He told himself. _I'm fine. She provoked me. She prodded. I'm fine. I'm fine._

McCree fixed his eyes on Dr. Ziegler's back, and almost felt concern for her. He could have sworn that she was shivering a moment ago. Her face was looking down. Was she crying? Had he hurt her? Again?

A moment passed, and McCree pondered saying something. Before he could, the Doc. recovered.

"Mr. McCree I'm afraid that you currently lack the necessary hygiene for me to continue my exam. I request that you clean up your act and report to the medical command when you are more prepared."

Dr. Ziegler held up her little plastic stethoscope and McCree saw that it was smudged with dirt. He knew that he wasn't in the best of condition when it came to cleanliness, but he had been rolling around in the mud of Mongolian _Steppe_ only 15 hours ago.

He had expected the doctor to comment on his muddy clothes and bloodied riding leathers at some point, but _this_... _this_ _hurt_.

"So I'm too filthy for you Doc? You want me to reschedule with someone else so you can be done with me right?"

 _Crippled. Broken. Tainted. Crippled. Broken. Tainted._

McCree felt the words buzz around his head irritatingly. This was it. He was defeated now. No one would ever understand what it was like to be the twenty-year-old killer, Jesse McCree. Least of all this silly little blonde child of a doctor.

"Well I don't get a say in how my scheduling works, and I don't get to pick who takes care of me. I'm a prisoner here, and I do what I'm told."

It came out more rambling and stupid than he had intended, but McCree was at his wits end. There was no more charm or witty resolve left in him today.

Reaching for his discarded shirt, McCree started getting dressed. Irritated by how three of his shirt buttons had gone missing in the _Steppe_. He pretended not to notice when Dr. Blonde started pleading.

"Mr. McCree I didn't mean to insult you. I would simply appreciate it if you... maybe... _showered a bit..._ and came back to finish your appointment."

He spared her a sideways glance and continued buttoning his shirt.

 _That's a bit nicer... Still. I'm done. Rules and regulations be damned, no more medicine for me._

"Please Mr. McCree, you don't have to go. I'll let you use our facilities if that makes it easier."

 _Oh please... she doesn't care about me. She's just gonna finish her little checkup and ask me to be nice on her patient satisfaction survey... still…_

"Why the change of heart Doc?" he asked defensively.

Dr. Ziegler frowned at him in a peculiar way, and McCree felt something stir in his chest.

"I simply wish to provide adequate medical care. Please, follow me."

McCree watched the dainty Dr. Ziegler strut out of the exam room. Her hair flowed behind her in a little cascade, and her red shoes clicked against the tile floor enticingly.

McCree couldn't stop himself from following the blonde Doc. He hated himself for it, but he followed all the same.

* * *

 **"I'm no hero. Never was. Never will be." -Solid Snake, 2008**


	6. Chapter 6: Steam

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Thrid Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Steam  
**

The Overwatch MedBay-3 was generally used for long term care. When operatives broke a hip or shattered a vertebra, they were often off their feet for months. As a result, the MedBay was well stocked with all the amenities required for long term stays.

Drawers were full of hospital gowns and Overwatch uniforms. Bedrooms were stocked with clean sheets and fluffy comforters. Small canteens were stocked with espresso machines, and little sandwich makers.

Luckily for Jesse McCree, the MedBay also had several well stocked private bathrooms. Angela was leading him to one now.

 _Hopefully the hot water does him some good…_ She thought. _Our rowdy patient has a predisposition for trouble…_

Angela strutted down the hallways of MedBay-3 and found the shower room that she remembered from training. Jesse McCree was still some ways down the hall, taking his time following the her. Angela crossed her arms and looked at him cautiously as he approached her.

"This shower is stocked with anything you might need. Please clean yourself up. As thoroughly as you can."

Angela paused and took a measured look at her patient. He was staring at the door blankly, almost ignoring her.

"When you are done, please come find me in the exam room again. Also, I would like you to change your clothes. There are clean exam clothes in the room right here."

Angela pointed in the direction of the changing room, but McCree was already halfway through the bathroom door.

"Fine." he called over his shoulder.

The door closed, and Angela heard the clink of the engaged door lock. Angela straightened her lab coat and turned on her heel. She meandered around the hallways as she thought about her strange morning.

 _Where did I go wrong?_ She wondered. _Was I too mean?_

Angela felt like laughing. Shy and fragile Angela Ziegler hurting the feelings of a cold hearted killer. What a comical day indeed.

Her thoughts turned to her patients scared back again.

 _He is hiding something. I know it. But why? What could he be hiding?_

Angela remembered McCree towering over her again.

 _Why do I care? If he wants to be a liar that's his business, none of mine._

Angela wanted to make excuses. She wanted to say that she didn't give a damn about the lying criminal agent. That she only wanted to have an accurate medical report that wasn't full of bogus horse riding injuries.

Despite her excuses, Angela could not deny that she was intrigued by Jesse McCree. The confidential material in his medical report. His evasive responses. The whole cowboy act that hid his true intentions.

 _What was it..._ She pondered. _What was it that he said...? There was something there… I'm sure of it…_

" _So I'm too filthy for you Doc? You wanna reschedule me with someone else so you can be done with me right? I don't get a say in how my scheduling works. I don't get to pick who takes care of me. I'm a prisoner here. I do what I'm told."_

 _Filthy. doesn't get a say. doesn't get to pick. A prisoner. A prisoner who takes orders._

Angela smelled a mystery in Jesse McCree. There was something out of the ordinary here.

 _A prisoner. A prisoner who takes orders…_

* * *

Angela was finally calmed enough to concentrate on her project again. Her fingers whirred over her laptop keyboard, moving _Valkyrie_ from ideas in her mind into schematics on her screen.

 _I'm close..._ She thought to herself. _A few more weeks... a reconstruction or two and I'll submit the design..._

Angela had thought that many times over the past few months. Every time she _"completed"_ her project she always found something new to be improved upon.

Part of it was anxiety. Angela knew the Overwatch Medical Command would be looking at her _Valkyrie_ technology very closely. She had to convince them that it was a practical and useful design. She had to impress them. Wow them. Make them see that that her brilliance was wasted in MedBay-3.

The other part of it was Torbjörn Lindholm. She had seen the evasive little man once or twice. Waddling around the mess hall or stomping down to his underground forge. Besides that, she knew nothing about him, or how to approach him with a design as complex as the _Valkyrie._

 _Soon. I have to submit the design soon… Then they will see. I'll show them._

Angela was broken out of her trance as she heard the distinct sound of spurred boots coming down the hallway.

 _Cowboy is here. Back to work._

Angela stowed away her laptop and turned to greet her patient.

Jesse McCree strode into her office, looking like a different man entirely. He was now wearing a casual Overwatch staff uniform, a black T-shirt with grey pants, both adorned with the Overwatch logos.

His dirt brown hair had been cut a little and combed. Sloppy facial hair had cleaned up nicely. Dirty skin had been scrubbed to reveal a healthy looking bronze sheen. Even his posture seemed to have improved. Gone was the stiff and brooding hunch, McCree looked relaxed and easy.

 _He looks good... He looks better than good... he looks..._

Angela couldn't even bring herself to finish the thought. Jesse McCree had a nice body, this she knew. But under the dirt and soot, it was hard to tell that he was... _handsome_ as well.

Brooding deep set eyes that were so mysterious. A well-defined face complimented by a strong jawline. Sideburns that didn't go _too_ far, but helped accent his bold eyebrows and chin hair. A good smile that showed off teeth surprisingly white for a smoker. That, along with a well built body made McCree more than good looking. It made him...

 _Attractive..._

Angela tried to say something, but she couldn't find her words. Eyes wide, she simply motioned for McCree to take a seat on her exam table. Busying herself with her clipboard again, Angela took a moment to compose herself for what seemed to be the hundredth time that day.

 _He's still wearing that tacky belt. He doesn't need it anyway. His pants are fit tight anyway. He has good hips. They do all the work. Keeping his pants up that is. Dammit._

Angela desperately tried to get the image of her patients thick legs and strong hips out of her mind.

 _No. Nonononono. No. I just need to finish up here. I'm going to finish up and go home. Yes. That is what I am going to do. I'm going to go down the checklist and finish this like any other exam._

Angela cleared her head and started almost too abruptly.

"Mr. McCree we have a full day ahead of us and I would like to get started with the Allergies and Reactants test..."

Angela went on, filling the empty air with rapid fire commands and instructions. She started off awkwardly, but soon recovered her vibe. Before long she was working like a machine, flying down her checklist at a breakneck speed.

She drew his blood. She tested his nerve responses. She tested his range of movement, and his eye response. She tested his heart and lung function. (Which returned results surprisingly good for an active smoker.)

Angela was about to force her patient onto a treadmill when he finally broke the peace and said something.

"Uhh... Dr. Ziegler, do you mind if we take a lunch break or something? I'm famished here. Didn't get any breakfast."

Angela felt her medical mind grind to a halt as she turned to her attention to her own body. Her stomach had been rumbling for some time now, but she had been ignoring it dutifully. A lunch break might do them some good she decided. She had already finished all the exams that required an empty stomach, so why not?

"Sure, we can absolutely do that. We will take a break and return in forty-five minutes. Then we will continue with your examination."

The dashing cowboy nodded at her and grabbed his hat. He was out the room and down the hall in half a second. Angela waited for a few moments and then set out after him. They were both heading to the mess hall, but she didn't want to awkwardly make small as they walked the distance.

Her impatience got the better of her though, as it only took a few moments for her brisk stride to catch up with the cowboy's lazy stroll. She tried to walk slower, but it was too late.

McCree was holding open the lobby exit door, looking at her expectantly. Angela walked through the door, offering a meek "Thanks." in response.

 _What a gentleman..._ she thought sarcastically. _He's going to try to charm me again. He should know better by now. I won't fall for it._

They walked in silence, side by side, out the door and into the crisp fall air. It was a quiet day in Watchpoint Gibraltar. The courtyard was completely silent, except for the jingle jangling of McCree's spurred boots, and the sharp taps of Angela's red flats.

"So... Doc." McCree started, "where ya from?"

 _Here we go..._ Angela thought. _Let's see how subtle he is this time..._

"I'm from Switzerland." she said simply.

"That sounds about right." McCree replied. "You look kinda like the Swiss girl on those hot chocolate packets."

McCree chuckled to himself, but Angela couldn't even bring herself to smile.

 _Oh how original Mr. McCowboy..._ _Every blue eyed blonde girl in Switzerland gets compared to some stupid mascot on a chocolate box. Try harder._

She didn't say anything in response, so McCree didn't say much of anything either. They continued in silence for a time.

 _He gave up that easily?_ She wondered after a while. _Maybe I should give him something to work with._

Angela pondered for a moment, trying to find something in her environment to rekindle the conversation. She wanted to gather information. Something that would help her solve the mystery of Jesse McCree.

 _Weather? Time of year? Holidays? No... I want to dig here. Something investigative. Something that reveals more about who he really is..._

"Quite a storm we had last night." She started. "Does it rain much where you're from?"

"No it doesn't. We get maybe a month of rain in the rainy season, that's about it."

"Is that why you were all muddy this morning then?" she asked lightheartedly. "Playing in the rain last night?"

"No, nothing like that. I was out and about most of yesterday. Playing in Mongolia instead of the rain."

 _Mongolia? What was he doing in Mongolia? Last night?_

"Mongolia? Is that where you are from?"

McCree looked at her incredulously, no doubt bewildered that anyone could think that a cowboy with an American Southwestern drawl could come from a place like Mongolia.

"No, that was just business. I'm from Texas."

 _Did you live in Texas, or did you get caught there?_ Angela wondered.

Her mind turned to the medical record again. She was pretty sure that there was a mention of a prison in Texas. She smelled a lie, but couldn't be certain that anything was amiss.

"I hear Texas is a nice place." she said mildly. "What brings you all the way out to Gibraltar?"

McCree didn't say anything for a long while, and Angela wondered if she had pushed for too much information. She had been pretending to be uninterested for most of the day. Surely this burst of interest would make him a bit suspicious...

"I've just got some business to settle with Overwatch. Business that has to be settled in person."

Angela heard the grim tone in his voice. He was lying obviously. No business matter required trips to Mongolia late at night. No common visitor would be ordered to get a full medical examination. Jesse McCree was clearly an agent or a special operative. That was the only thing that could explain the amount of classified information in his file.

 _A prisoner. A prisoner who takes orders…_

* * *

 ** _"I wumbo, you wumbo, he she we wumbo, wumboing, wumbology, they study of wumbo...come on Spongebob, this is first grade!" -Patrick Star, 2002  
_**


	7. Chapter 7: Supper

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the fourth McCree Chapter (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Supper  
**

McCree straggled behind as the blonde doctor zipped through the hallways. He didn't really know why he was following her to begin with, but he wouldn't change his path now that it was set. Absentmindedly tracking his navigator's path, McCree let his mind wander.

 _Let's just get this finished… the sooner I get out of here the better._

Twice this morning, McCree had made a fool of himself. He knew why today was going so poorly, but he couldn't find the strength in himself to admit it.

" _Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder"_ The prison therapist had told him, _"Get it treatment and therapy quick son, or your cell is gonna be padded foam in a few months."_

 _Treatment & Therapy_… that wasn't exactly the way things had turned out. His was getting worse and worse as months passed, and he assumed that it was a matter of time before he was in a spiral of metal torment.

McCree pushed his negative thoughts away as he had so many times before. He didn't need help. Not here. Not now.

Dr. Ziegler had stopped a short distance up the hall. McCree strolled over to her lazily. He wasn't in any rush.

"The shower is stocked... clean yourself up... come find me in the exam room... change your clothes..."

McCree half listened to the blonde as she bossed him around. He wasn't in a very cooperative mood, so he simply walked into the room with a dismissive "Fine."

Locking the door, McCree took inventory. The bathroom was well stocked with razors, toothbrushes, and a dozen different kinds of toiletries. White towels hung on the wall, and a large mirror was placed over a sink.

McCree walked over to the mirror and took a long hard look at himself. He looked beaten and weathered. Dirt, mud, and blood covered his clothes. His skin looked worn, with wrinkles and stress lines around his forehead. Worse of all were his eyes. Many sleepless nights had formed dark circles under them.

 _Twenty years old…_ he reminded himself. _Too young to be this tired. Too young to be this worn._

McCree found a strange looking shower booth at the end of the room, and went to turn on the hot water. He found the water knob, but noticed another knob right under the shower head.

 _ **Volskaya Steam Shower Version 2.3B**_ A label read.

 _Hot water might do me some good… some steam... that should help…_

McCree turned on both the hot water and the Volskaya steamer. He tore off his dirty clothes and hopped in the shower booth as a cloud of hot steam rose from the floor.

 _Fancy_. McCree thought to himself.

McCree felt burning hot water run over his back and down his legs. Looking down, he saw that the water was a light brown, darkened by all the filth streaming down his body.

He closed his eyes and let the water dampen his hair. When he opened them again, he found that the cloud of steam had grown to fill the entire shower booth.

The hot steam made his eyes water in a good way. He took a deep breath and let the vapor fill his lungs. He did that several times, but had to stop once it started making him cough. He coughed violently for a moment and was startled when he noticed that he was hacking up black goo.

 _Tobacco Tar…_ He realized. _I should really stop smoking._

McCree let the hot water and steam work their magic. As he breathed in the hot steam, black tar was washed out of his nose and lungs. He decided to gargle once or twice as well. He hadn't really realized how long the taste of tobacco lingered in his mouth after a smoke. It felt good to get it all out.

After a long time, McCree began scrubbing at his skin. Mud, dirt, and grime came off his skin as he dug his fingers into it. He was taken aback by how much of it there had been in his hair and under his arms.

 _I'll be dammed… the blonde doc was right._

McCree vigorously scrubbed shampoo into his hair, and rubbed soap into his skin everywhere he could reach. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped out of the steam shower feeling like a new man.

He stretched his muscles in the nude, enjoying the feel of his body dropping tension and pressure. He felt a genuine smile form on his lips as he looked at himself in the fogged up mirror over the sink.

" _Treatment and Therapy indeed_ " he said to his reflection. He shot a finger gun at foggy image, and then found a towel to dry himself. McCree raided the bathroom's stock of toiletries and cleaned himself up with pride. It had been a long time since he had actually gone through the effort of grooming himself.

A clean shave. A mouth full of toothpaste and strong mouthwash. A good scissoring for his tangled hair, and a healthy puff of sandalwood aftershave.

McCree stepped out of the bathroom in his towel. He peeked up and down the hallway to make sure that no one was coming.

 _Dammit… what the hell did she say about clothes? Exam gowns or something? Where are they?_

McCree crept over to some of the doors across the hallway and started testing the door handles. Some of the doors were locked, and one of the doors led to a janitorial closet. Eventually he found one that lead to a bedroom. Fumbling around in the drawers next to the bed, McCree found a Overwatch uniform that roughly fit him.

Equipped with clothing, McCree headed back to the bathroom to retrieve his hat, bandana, boots, gun, and gun belt. His filthy slacks, plaid shirt, and riding leathers were unceremoniously dumped in the trash.

McCree set his hat over combed hair and set out to find the exam room and Dr. Ziegler.

* * *

Dr. Ziegler wasted no time in putting McCree back to work. The moment he strolled into the exam room, the blonde was bossing him around, moving him from one piece of equipment to the next, probing, monitoring, testing and documenting.

She had been at it for a couple hours now, if the spinning hands of the wall clock were any indication.

"Uhh... Dr. Ziegler, do you mind if we take a lunch break or something? I'm famished here. Didn't get any breakfast." McCree asked.

"Sure, we can absolutely do that. We will take a break and return in... forty-five minutes? Then we will continue with your examination."

McCree was relieved. He knew some of the examinations required him to have an empty stomach, but this was torture. Wasting no time at all, he slapped on his hat and walked out the door.

 _Forty-five minutes... better make this fast. That Dr. Ziegler don't mess around..._

McCree was about to dash off to the mess hall when he heard the signature tapping of red heels on the tile floor. In a spur of the moment decision he decided to slow his pace and play it cool.

In a slow stroll he turned down the hallways and out the lobby door. Maneuvering through the maze of lobby chairs, McCree spotted the little doctor some little ways behind him.

He did want to spend some time away from the bossy little doctor... but for some reason he thought that it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if they just walked to the mess hall together. Some polite conversation might lessen the... _tension_... between them.

McCree got to the lobby door and held it open. He peered back into the room under his wide brim hat, and watched as Dr. Blonde hurried after him and through the opening.

"Thanks." She said humorlessly.

 _Good start..._ McCree thought.

"So... Doc... where ya from?" McCree asked.

"I'm from Switzerland." she replied simply.

 _Not giving me much to work with here... why is she so... evasive? Would it be that bad if we just got to know each other on a first name basis?_

McCree wanted to think that his intentions were noble. He had himself almost convinced of it. But there was still some part of him that understood that he was still trying to court the blonde doctor. He found her attractive, and he wouldn't let her get away this easily.

He tried to think of something witty to say. Maybe if he could just get her to laugh. That might be enough to get her out of her shell...

"That sounds about right! You look kinda like the Swiss girl on those hot chocolate packets."

McCree thought the parallel was entertaining. She did look just like the girl on the box. But one look at Dr. Blonde's face revealed that she found it far less entertaining than he did.

McCree gave up. She just wasn't in the mood today. Or maybe she never was. Some girls were like that he knew. No interest in the opposite sex. Just interested in work, or other girls.

They continued in silence through the courtyard of WatchPoint Gibraltar. It was a chilly fall day, quiet and peaceful. McCree didn't mind the quiet, the deserts of the American southwest were as quiet as they come. He wouldn't have minded some more warmth thought. Or maybe a dry spicy breeze instead of a humid salty one.

McCree started thinking about home again, but was suddenly interrupted by a surprise remark from the Doctor.

"Quite a storm we had last night. Does it rain much where you're from?"

The question caught McCree of guard. He had just finished writing off Dr. Ziegler as a lost cause.

"No it doesn't. We get maybe a month of rain in the rainy season. That's about it."

The Doctor humored him. "Is that why you were all muddy this morning? Playing in the rain last night?"

"No, nothing like that. I was out and about most of yesterday. Playing in Mongolia instead of the rain."

"Mongolia? Is that where you are from?"

McCree could barely comprehend what he had just heard. _Mongolia?_ How the hell could anyone think that _he_ came from _Mongolia?_ Had this girl never seen a western movie? Even a spaghetti western movie? How could anyone ever think that a cowboy came from _Mongolia?_

"No, that was just business." McCree replied as calmly as he could. "I'm from Texas."

McCree wasn't really from Texas of course. That's just what he told people if they started asking questions. It wasn't entirely incorrect. He had spent a few miserable months there.

"I hear Texas is a nice place. What brings you all the way out to Gibraltar?" Dr. Ziegler asked.

McCree paused before he said anything else. He was starting to notice a trend.

 _Is she interrogating me? Why so much curiosity Dr. Blonde...? Did I say too much? Mongolia... Texas... Dammit... if Reyes hears about this..._

McCree couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. His affiliation with Overwatch was a bit of an open secret now... but his work for Blackwatch... that was a different story completely.

A gut feeling told him that he had revealed too much. Mongolia. There were non-black ops Overwatch missions underway there... but people didn't just come back from environmental research missions covered in blood and mud. Besides, he didn't look like much of a climatologist.

If Dr. Ziegler thought about it enough she could probably figure out a thing or two about his employment here. He knew the drill.

" _Any breaches of confidential information get reported to me immediately."_ Reyes had ordered. _"You let me know if you spilled the soda kid. If I find out any other way you're in for a world of hurt."_

McCree felt a shiver go down his spine. Reyes was not a man to get on the wrong side of. He had to do things by the book here.

McCree first of all thought of a way to deflect Ms. Blonde Interrogator's question. He settled on some half-baked line about unfinished business and delivered a hallow reply.

"I've just got some business to settle with Overwatch. Business that has to be settled in person."

 _Ain't that the truth..._ He thought to himself. _Business... I guess you could call our arrangement business..._

* * *

McCree and Dr. Ziegler continued walking in silence.

The mess hall was tucked away deep inside the underground fortifications of Gibraltar. A submarine base? A secret laboratory? The Overwatch staff liked to speculate as to why the deep underground installations were constructed here in the late 2030's. Reyes had told him that the underground lairs were constructed as part of a secret nuclear silo. McCree was inclined to believe him, as usual.

Reyes had a way of knowing things. His black eyes could see into people's souls and lay them bare. There was no hiding anything from him.

McCree suspected that this was why Commander Morrison had given Reyes permission to recruit him. Reyes, unlike any other man alive, could stare over his shoulder from a whole world away. He was the surest way to make sure that their newest Blackwatch agent didn't go back to his killing ways. Or worse, expose the existence of Blackwatch.

McCree prepped himself as they neared the mess hall. He had to downplay this. Had to make it seem like no big deal.

Before long, they were underground, walking through the sliding doors of the mess hall. The mess hall was an expansive place, a large underground chamber that was an aircraft hangar in its past life. Flood lights filled the chamber with light, giving the otherwise damp place a warm glow. Soft music played through speakers in the ceiling, and staff grabbed plates and trays as they worked away at the midday buffet. Laughter rang out from the pool tables occasionally, and people laughed and talked over their meals.

Overall the mess hall was an inviting enough place, but McCree didn't get to use it that often. As a Overwatch agent, he was expected to dine with the other operatives in the Officer's Lounge.

McCree made a sideways glance at his companion. Hopefully she didn't expect him to eat with her. He would have liked that, but her own questioning denied her the chance.

"Well, here we are." He said. "I've gotta check in at the lounge. See you soon Doc."

Dr. Ziegler offered him a smile and a nod as she wandered away. McCree kept his eye on her as he made his way to the Officer's Lounge.

The Lounge wasn't an especially kind thing in truth. There were pool tables, cards, drinks, and better food in there sure, but the lounge was more of a separation measure than a show of status. Agents knew sensitive information, and it was better if they didn't _"fraternize"_ with the common staff and risk spilling the beans.

So they were quarantined off into their own little corner of the mess hall. What was probably a storage closet in the past, was now a fully-fledged lounge, complete with two door guards and secret password.

"Password?" Murad the door guard asked.

"Uhmmm... what was it... _London?_ " McCree asked hopefully.

"Nope." Ibrahim the other door guard replied.

"Ahh shit." McCree complained with a sigh. " _Highland?_ "

"No." said Murad.

McCree ground his teeth in frustration. He had a gut feeling that there was a plot at hand.

"Reyes or Morrison?" he accused.

"Can't say." Both guards replied in unison.

Murad was smiling through his beard, trying hard to remain composed. Ibrahim was already laughing to himself, his red beret flopping around on his bald head. Despite being stern and commanding in front of the staff, Reyes and Morrison were notorious pranksters when it came to the higher ranking staff. _"It keeps up morale."_ Morrison had claimed in his famous deadpan.

McCree thought for a moment. Had someone changed the password? _Or_ had someone changed the password _only for him?_ That seemed more likely. Something that Morrison would do probably.

"Do I have to say something?" McCree asked.

"Maybe.." they both replied.

McCree frowned heavily. He knew what this was about.

"I'm a tacky cowboy and I know it."

A female Egyptian voice came from behind the door. "A little more spirit in that solider! That's an order!"

"I am a tacky cowboy and I know it!" he said in exasperation.

Murad opened the door as he lost his composure. Reyes, Morrison, and Amari were all there, laughing at his expense.

 _Ana Amari... I should have known. Those were her Egyptian Grenadiers at the door._

"He admits to it finally!" Gabriel Reyes said triumphantly in his gravelly voice.

"A field promotion for both of you brave men." Jack Morrison deadpanned. "Takes a lot of guts to face the enemy at the gates."

"Those aren't your promotions to give Jack!" Amari rebuked. "My men, my promotions. The Bey brothers both get shots of whisky on me."

Ibrahim Bey and Murad Bey eyed each other in distaste.

"You know we don't drink Captain." Murad said.

"Something more... substantial please?" asked Ibrahim.

Amari eyed the two young _Grenadiers_ disapprovingly.

"Watch yourselves boys, those promotions might just become bathroom duty. That would be kind of _substantial_ wouldn't it! Now back to attention!"

The Bey brothers snapped back to attention and saluted McCree as he walked in.

 _Amari's in a good mood today... all of The Big Three are... hmm..._

"I've been trying to get him to say that forever Ana." Reyes informed everyone. "Good thinking with the password."

McCree rolled his eyes and went to get a tray. Reinhardt Wilhelm and Torbjörn Lindholm were talking about guns and armor over plates of currywurst. Ana's daughter, Fareeha, was sitting in the corner watching boxing on the holoprojector. Several other agents and top brass were scattered around the lounge, chatting and eating in the dimly lit lounge.

McCree grabbed some hot dogs and seasoned them with relish. He also took a few slices of pizza, and a healthy chunk of blueberry pie. _That_ was good eating.

Finding his way to an empty booth, McCree took a seat and got to work on his pie. Desert always came first in his book.

The Big Three were seated at a circular booth by the door, making hushed conversation over a bottle of whisky. McCree wondered again what had them in such a good mood. Liquor. That was part of it sure. But Reyes was notoriously hard to get liquored up. Something incredible must have happened if he was knocking back shots with the rest.

Jack Morrison and Ana Amari were always pretty friendly away from the common staff.

Morrison was sort of a brother in arms for McCree. They weren't close, but they had something of a mutual respect for one another.

Amari was more stern toward him when Morrison or Reyes were around, but was polite and almost flirty with him in private. They had some good chemistry, and they got along reasonably well.

Reyes was the black sheep of _The Big Three_. He was hard and intimidating most of the time, and he lacked the inspiring qualities that Amari and Morrison had. Reyes didn't inspire people, but he was very effective at maintaining discipline. Morrison, and to a lesser extent Amari had difficulty with that at times.

As intimidating and serious as Reyes was, Commander Morrison had a way with him. Morrison and Reyes had served together in the U.S. army during the Omnic Wars. McCree assumed that they had developed some kind of a bond over those years. Whenever Morrison was at his side, Reyes let his alter ego loose. He joked, he pranked, and he became more of a human figure.

McCree was glad to see that he was in that mood today. Letting him know that he had leaked information would be that much easier if he wasn't out for blood.

McCree pushed _The Big Three_ from his mind. Right now all he wanted to think about was his warm, toasty, buttery, blueberry pie.

* * *

 **"We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real 'Greatness' is what you do with the hand you're dealt." Victor 'Goddamn' Sullivan, 2011**


	8. Chapter 8: Crisis

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Fourth Angela Z. Chapter (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Crisis  
**

Angela nibbled at her salad. The cold lettuce wasn't warm enough to satisfy her on this cool fall day. She wanted something tasty and warm to fight of the dank chill of the underground mess hall.

 _Soup... soup would be nice..._

Angela stood from seat and went to get a bowl of Minestrone. Filling her ceramic bowl to the brim, she walked back to her seat and started lapping up the warm goodness. She would have much preferred a bowl of hearty broccoli cheddar, but cheddar was not vegan. Having just one bowl of cheesy broccoli would use up her entire cholesterol allocation for the day.

 _I hate being healthy..._ _Cholesterol is yummy. I miss eating yummy things. Cream with coffee... Cereal with real milk... Cheese... Pizza... Bacon..._

Angela let her mind wander as she lapped up more soup. She wondered if it was really all that important that she stay healthy. She thought about her patient. He smoked. He drank. He ate junk food. Despite all that, his lung function was strong, his liver was functional, and his body was in relatively decent shape.

 _Unfair. Completely unfair..._

Angela let her self pity wallow itself out. She finished her soup and salad and went to put away her tray and silverware.

 _Boom!_ _Crash!_

A loud sound came from the corner of the mess hall. Angela stopped in her tracks to gawk with the rest of the staff. Reinhardt was the source of the disturbance. It seemed that he had fallen over something and knocked over an entire table with his massive weight.

 _Reinhardt... a warrior unparalleled in the field, but a clumsy giant at home. Better go check on him._

Angela weaved her way around tables, and elbowed her way through a crowd of onlookers and do gooders cleaning up the mess.

"Reinhardt!" Angela called over the commotion. "Are you okay, or should we start your next appointment early?"

"Angela! Just in time as always!" Reinhart shouted back. "I'm fine deary you don't worry about me."

Angela smiled at him knowingly and let him recompose himself. Reinhart always said he was okay, but half the time he was lying. In an embarrassing situation like this, she was almost certain that he was.

 _Probably a fork stuck in his arm or something. A few bandaids and a hug should be adequate._

Angela waited as the mess was cleaned and the table was set upright again. Reinhart slinked over to the Officer's Lounge entrance and waited for her there.

"Let me see you Reinhart." Angela said as she approached.

"I'm fine truly!" he insisted.

"Lying doesn't suit a noble knight Reinhart. Sit still and let me see."

Reinhart groaned but didn't stop her as she looked him over. Sure enough there was a cut and bruise combo on the back of his neck. Nothing serious, but still something to get taken care of.

 _Gauze... I need some gauze and some medical tape..._

Angela looked around her environment. Two Egyptian soldiers were guarding the entrance to the Officer's Lounge. She thought she saw a red crescent on one of their shoulders.

"Excuse me Sir, do you happen to have a first aid kit on you?" she blinked and smiled at the bearded man charmingly.

"No madame" the man replied. "But Lieutenant Bey has one. He would be more than happy to assist."

The bearded officer pointed to his fellow door guard. Wordlessly the Lieutenant reached around his belt and pulled out a small pack with a red crescent on it.

"Here you are Madame."

"Thank you Lieutenant Bey." she replied.

Walking back to Reinhart, Angela was disappointed to see that his cut was dripping blood onto the back of his giant tank top. What if he really got hurt some day and didn't tell anyone? She worried about her crusading friend sometimes.

"Take a knee noble night." She commanded.

"I'm fine Angela!" he insisted.

"Now." she replied a bit more sternly.

The giant man obliged and took a knee before her. Even then Reinhart towered two feet over her. She practically had to climb up his back to even get her gauze around his neck. Wrapping the gauze around him, Angela sealed the binding with some medical tape and called it a job well done.

"All done Rein." she informed him.

"Thank you little Angela..." Reinhart replied sheepishly. "I'll be more carefull next time."

Angela hugged the giant man and sent him on his way.

" _I'll be more careful next time" Ha. As if he can control his clumsiness._

Angela decided that it was high time she got back to the Med Bay to finish Mr. McCree's examination. It had certainly been more than forty five minutes.

 _I'm going to be late to my own appointment... that cowboy is probably halfway back to the Medb-_

"Hey there Doc." Jesse McCree interrupted. "I think we're a little late to our appointment."

Angela turned on her heel and found Jesse McCree standing beside another man.

 _Gabriel Reyes_.

Angela felt a shiver go down her spine. She didn't like the look of him. He had a cruel face. A sharp nose accented by a broad scowling brow. A defined chin covered in dark hair. Thick dark eyebrows that impressed upon his penetrating black eyes. He towered over her, and made even McCree look frail with his muscular arms and thick legs.

Despite his intimidating look, the man had some kind of a smirk playing over his thin lips. Angela didn't like it at all. It reminded her of someone pretending to be amused under the pretense of boredom.

"Nice to meet you Miss...?" He asked.

"Ziegler!" Angela replied abruptly. "Angela Ziegler."

"Good to finally meet you Angela." his deep voice slowly rumbled. "I'm glad to see that Mr. McCree is making friends in our organization."

His tone came off as sarcastic but sincere. Angela didn't like it though. McCree himself was stiff as a board, and it was hard to tell what he was feeling under his down facing wide brim hat.

"I'm just taking care of Mr. McCree for today. It is good meet you Mr. Reyes." she replied.

"Oh-ho! She knows my name already. You must've _told_ her _all_ about me Jesse." Reyes said, giving McCree a sideways glance. "Good on you for _listening_ to our friendly neighborhood cowboy. I'm glad to see that _someone's_ taken _interest_ in him."

 _Oh no..._

Angela did her best to smile, but she was almost sure that her fearful eyes gave her away. She didn't know what to do now. It felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on her.

"Well, it high time we got outta here." McCree said. "Until next time Sir."

McCree tipped his hat at Reyes and started walking away. Angela jumped at the opportunity and followed him, offering a stiff nod towards Reyes.

This was not good. Not good at all. Reyes knew that she knew that she had been poking around his agents past. Did he know about her access to the medical records? She hoped not, but a gut feeling told her that the Medical Record embedded confidential protocols might have reporting functions.

" _I'm glad to see someone's taken an interest in him..."_ It was an innocent enough statement on it's own... but his tone... that was a veiled warning. _"I see you."_ he was saying. _"Don't dig any deeper..."_

* * *

 **"Oh, oh, oh, time to accelerate"- Lucio, 2016**


	9. Chapter 9: Standoff

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Fifth Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 9: StandOff  
**

McCree was finally full. After eating his way through three heaping plates of pizza, hot dogs, and blueberry pie, his nervously churning stomach had been settled. Now he could turn his mind to more important tasks. Such as reporting an information breach to his commanding officer.

 _How should I start? Tell him straight up? "Sir I done screwed up. Told some nosey nurse about our operation in Mongolia." No that ain't right. Gotta downplay it a bit. Make myself look like less of a goddamn fool..._

McCree felt his heart speed up again. Deep down he knew that Reyes would see right through him and his cover story. There was no lying to that man.

He wanted to procrastinate. He wanted to enjoy himself for just a moment today before everything went to shit again.

McCree glanced around the lounge, looking for an opportunity to kill some time. Reinhardt was up and leaving the lounge, hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. Left at his table was Torbjörn, drinking shots of whiskey over an open sketchbook.

He liked Torbjörn most of the time. They got along well due to their mutual appreciation for gunsmithing. Although they sometimes had trouble understanding each other's accents, most of the time they enjoyed themselves over shots of whiskey. Debating the merits of various bullet calibers, arguing over the pros and cons of various weapons, or just sharing stories about gunfights, a drinking session with Torbjörn was rarely a dull affair.

 _Why not... I could use a shot of whiskey. Old Lindholm always has the good stuff anyway._

McCree disposed of his empty plates and casually made his way over to Torbjörn. The Swede didn't bother looking up from his sketchpad as he took a seat across from him.

"So how's it kickin' Lindholm?" McCree started.

"Kicking? Well enough I suppose... I also suppose that you're here to plunder some of my Firebrand?"

McCree nodded his head as he poured himself a shot of Swedish _Firebrand_.

The gruff blacksmith gave him a mockingly disappointed glance.

"How old are you anyway Mr. McCree?" Torbjörn questioned, "Old enough to drink?"

"Old enough to know the difference between _Firebrand_ and _Mackmyra_. You tryin' to play me for a fool Lindholm?"

The blacksmith laughed at that. "I was wondering if you would notice. Reinhart didn't! Germans and their beer! Can't appreciate the deeper flavors of the whiskey. I don't even know why I waste my drink on that giant hammer swinging..."

Torbjörn rambled on a for a while about Reinhardt Wilhelm. Despite their bickering, Reinhardt and Torbjörn were the best of friends. McCree on the other hand didn't really know how to feel about the hulking giant.

Reinhardt, with his code of honor, had never seen eye to eye with McCree due to his Deadlock past. He was polite enough, but never warm towards him the way he was with others.

McCree of course had his own reservations about Reinhardt. As much as he respected his strength and battle prowess, he always felt sick when he remembered the circumstances of their first meeting.

"And then he swung the hammer at me! His giant ten foot hammer at me! What was that oaf of a man thinking I'll never know... I'd rather he use a gun like the rest of us! What kind of weapon would that be... a mounted gun or something... big caliber, heavy projectile, aim assistance... He can carry so much weight you know, he could carry a great giant gun..."

McCree commented on Torbjörn's giant Reinhardt gun idea and then said his goodbyes. His time was up, and Dr. Ziegler was probably already waiting on him back at the Medbay.

The lone cowboy wandered over to where The Big Three were sitting. Their bottle of liquor was empty, and it looked like Reyes was getting up to leave. That was a promising sign. Some liquor, and some time with Morrison should have cooled off Reyes usually confrontational mood.

McCree made his way over and saluted his Commanding officer.

"Commander Reyes." He greeted formally.

"Jesse McCree, I've been expecting a visit." Reyes replied in his deep voice, "Come, let's catch up."

Reyes gestured towards an empty table and McCree followed.

 _Been expecting a visit? What's that supposed to mean…_

Reyes took a seat and slouched in his chair. McCree sat across from him and tried to look casually bored. He didn't know what to say then. All of his planned downplaying was jumbled up in his mind.

"Come on now Jesse, let's get going here. I'm sure this isn't a social visit. Report and we'll move on from there." Reyes grumbled impatiently.

"Yes Sir." McCree replied nervously. "I'd just like to report that I- that- that there has been a breach of confidential information."

Reyes cocked an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. McCree sighed and continued.

"I was scheduled for a... medical assessment this morning and I-"

"Lost your composure and made a fool of yourself." Reyes finished.

McCree tried to hide his surprise behind his wide brimmed hat, but somehow Reyes jet black eyes found his, and paralyzed him.

"I don't usually reveal my sources Jesse, so listen up." Reyes paused and lowered his eyes. "There are eyes and ears all over this base. This morning you picked an argument with one of my sharpest eyes, and screamed into her very sensitive ears. You made a scene, and if I ever see the likes of that again..."

Jesse could barely comprehend what he was hearing. _Janice?_ The plump librarian looking secretary woman? _She_ was one of Gabriel Reyes secret informants?

Reyes continued while McCree's mind struggled to catch up. "You're lucky to have made a scene with one of my own Jesse. _Very_ lucky. If you felt like having a teenage temper tantrum any other place on this base you would've been the hottest gossip of the week. Not much to talk about in our little Watchpoint. A deranged killer cowboy would be just the kind of thing everyone would love to chat about over their morning coffee."

Reyes paused for a breath. McCree knew the liquor was at work here. Reyes was traditionally a man of few words, this was unusual for him.

"So if there is anything else you want to tell me Jesse, you better do so now." He finished.

Jesse cleared his throat and tried to find something to say.

"Well... first I would like to apologize for drawing attention to myself Sir. It won't happen again." McCree started.

Reyes snorted and shot a skeptical look at him. McCree continued on, trying his best to seem older and more confident.

"The... breach I wanted to talk to you about actually happened during my medical assessment today..." McCree trailed off and tried to gauge Reyes reaction. His commanding officer sat a little straighter in his chair, but hid any surprise under a well-practiced poker face.

"I was going through my assessment when the Doc I was being tested by started questioning me. Started asking some pretty _specific_ questions. I'm afraid that I let my guard down and... _disclosed_ some information."

McCree felt bad for throwing Dr. Ziegler under the bus, but he was at his wits end. There was no lying to Gabriel Reyes.

"This 'Doc.' you speak of... what is her name?" Reyes asked quietly.

McCree cleared his throat and prayed that Reyes would leave her be. "She calls herself Dr. Ziegler Sir."

"Ziegler?" Reyes asked rhetorically. "Angela Ziegler?"

McCree was caught off guard again. How could Reyes know Dr. Ziegler on a first name basis? Janice he supposed. But why would Reyes secret informant report on some little nobody MedBay doctor? What had Angela Ziegler done to draw such scrutiny to herself?

Reyes piercing black eyes seemed to read McCree's thoughts.

"Girl's been poking around your medical records son." Reyes rumbled. "I didn't think anything of it at first, but... I guess the good doctor has taken an _interest_ in you."

Reyes smiled at him in a peculiar way.

" _Young love."_ Reyes mocked. "Romeo and Juliet... Cleopatra and Mark Antony... Lancelot and Guinevere... Jesse McCree and some little Dr. Zee"

McCree was glad that Reyes was pivoting to a more lighthearted tone, but was also a bit embarrassed. He felt his face get hot, and he tried to hide himself behind his hat again.

"Our little love story will end in disappointment unfortunately." Reyes continued, in an almost fatherly tone. "You are not to fraternize with the staff Jesse. I know you might get lonely at times... but you can't risk your cover. You can always talk to anyone within the Officer's Lounge. We all have Confidential Information Clearance here."

Reyes paused and looked at McCree sympathetically. He sighed and rested his elbows on the table.

"What information did you exactly _disclose_ Jesse?" Reyes asked simply.

"I told her I was from Texas... I named Mongolia... I told her enough about myself for her to assume that I'm no common visitor."

Reyes pressed his thin lips together. "Combined with her Medical record access, she could piece together a thing or two... but I'm not worried Jesse. Just remember this next time you try to make friends with the regulars."

"Yes Sir." McCree responded.

"Now make no mistake, I'll still need to have a chat with this Dr. Zee of yours." Reyes rumbled. "Take me to her."

McCree and Reyes left the lounge. McCree hoped that Dr. Ziegler was still in the mess hall. He didn't want to test Reyes patience, but also wanted their meeting to happen in a more public place. That would hopefully keep his gruff commanding officer more... _civilized_ as he warned the blonde Doctor.

Sure enough, he found Dr. Ziegler outside the Officer's Lounge. She was... _getting a piggy back ride from Reinhart?_

McCree blinked his eyes and looked again. Dr. Ziegler was indeed climbing up Reinhart's back, but there was some gauze in her hand. It looked like she was wrapping it around some injury on the giant German's neck. Odd, but didn't matter.

Reyes had also stopped to gawk at the scene, but he didn't seem to realize that the blonde was Dr. Ziegler. They both stood and watched as the doctor finished her bandaging and said goodbye the hulking crusader. Once that was over, McCree decided to introduce her to Gabriel Reyes.

"Hey there Doc." McCree said. "I think we're a little late to our appointment."

Dr. Ziegler turned to face them, looking a little bewildered. From her expression, McCree guessed that the young doctor had seen, or at least heard of Gabriel Reyes.

 _That's good. If she knows who this is, she might know what's about to happen..._ McCree thought to himself.

"Nice to meet you..." Reyes rumbled, "Miss...?"

"Ziegler! Angela Ziegler." Dr. Ziegler said a little too loudly.

"Good to _finally_ meet you Angela." Reyes groveled, "I'm glad to see that Mr. McCree is making friends in our organization..."

"I'm just taking care of Mr. McCree for today." she said in a more conversational tone. "It is good meet you Mr. Reyes."

" _Oh-ho!_ She knows my name already." Reyes said, in a darker tone. "You must've told her _all_ about me Jesse."

Reyes shot him a look and then turned his penetrating gaze back to Angela. McCree knew that this had to be done, and that it was mostly the blonde doctor's fault... but for some reason these... _veiled threats._.. were making his blood boil.

"Good on you for _listening_ to our friendly neighborhood cowboy." Reyes continued. "I'm glad to see that _someone's taken interest in him._ "

When _was_ the last time someone had taken an interest in him? When was the last time anyone tried to make an honest conversation with a miserable prick such as himself? When was the last time someone had gone out of their way for his pathetic well-being? McCree couldn't remember, and he felt his seething hot rage grow in a defensive way.

 _Goddammit Reyes that's enough! She doesn't need this. She doesn't deserve it..._

McCree raised his gaze and tried to read Dr. Ziegler. She was afraid. Terrified even. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, and her legs were trembling ever so slightly.

 _I need to get her outta here. Enough is enough Reyes! She got the message!_

"Well, it high time we got outta here." McCree said as calmly as he could. "Until next time Sir."

Reyes opened his mouth to say something else, but didn't. He expertly equipped his poker face, not letting off any clues. Was he angry that McCree had cut off his little pep talk? Or was he finished? McCree didn't know and he didn't care. He wasn't going to let Angela get bullied by Reyes, commanding officer or not.

* * *

 **Cover Art** : This weekend I contacted a very talented Artist named Emi. He gave me permission to use his lovely art as the thumbnail for my story. (Much better than my cringy little Bob the Builder of Death cover image...)

It appears that this cover art was very successful at getting more people to click on my story. In fact, today I had the highest story traffic that I've had in five years. So Thank you to Emi! Check him out on Tumblr, he goes by Ymkse. Very nice art of Overwatch, Metal Gear Solid, and other stuff.

* * *

 ** _"Death is the solution to all problems. No man, no problem."_ _-_ Joseph Stalin, USSR  
**


	10. Chapter 10: Favors

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Fifth Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Favors**

* * *

 **Back in the Saddle, Again Act II: Three Months Later**

* * *

Angela was in the mess hall, chewing at her salad dutifully. She was all nerves now, and she hoped that the leafy greens would settle her stomach a bit before today's big event. Today was finally it. She had completed _Valkyrie_ for the last time. Today she would submit the design to Torbjörn, and her career as an Overwatch Medical Professional would start in earnest.

All she had to do was wait. In about ten minutes Reinhardt would stumble out of the Officer's Lounge, still a little drunk from his daily drinks with Torbjörn. She would approach him, and ask him to deliver the schematics for her. Reinhardt knew Torbjörn well, and if he vouched for her she was certain that the expert engineer would go through the long and arduous process of constructing the _Valkyrie_ for her.

 _All I need to do is wait. Reinhardt_ _will be my deliverance. All these months of taking care of my beloved oaf will finally pay off._

So Angela waited. She waited for five minutes. And then ten more. And then another fifteen minutes. She waited and waited, hoping that Reinhardt was just getting a little more drunk than usual. But soon it was evident that Reinhardt was not coming out of the lounge at all.

" _Hospitalized!?"_ Angela gasped.

"Yes Madame, terribly sorry to be bearers of bad news." Door guard Murad Bey said in his accented voice.

"What happened?" Angela demanded, "Where is he?"

"We are not allowed to say Madame... I apologize." Door guard Ibrahim Bey answered.

"Where is he now? Can you tell me please?" Angela pleaded. She couldn't bear the thought of Reinhardt being seriously injured in some god forsaken far corner of the world.

Both the Bey brothers became skittish, looking over their shoulders, and eying the Officer's Lounge door behind them.

"Geneva..." Murad whispered. "He was wounded in th-"

Murad hushed and snapped to attention as Captain Amari practically kicked down the Officer's Lounge door.

" _Murad! Ibrahim!"_ She shouted, "We're deploying! Lieutenant Bey, you are to ready the ship! Load up the men and equipment, bring the long-rifles from the armory, and see that we have provisions for two weeks at sea..."

Angela backed off as the Captain bossed around her soldiers.

 _Geneva... The Overwatch HQ. Reinhardt is in good hands. Those Medical Command Doctors can bring men back from the brink of death... But my plan. It's in shambles now. No Reinhardt means no Torbjörn. No Torbjörn means no Valkyrie._

Angela gritted her teeth. She hated that she was upset about _Valkyrie_ when she should have been more upset over her friend's health. But she had been working on this for so long...

 _Hell, if I had completed Valkyrie just a few weeks ago maybe Reinhardt wouldn't have been injured! No... can't think like that. I need to finish this no matter what. For Reinhardt. For myself._

Angela eyed Captain Amari again. She knew the Captain on a first name basis, as she lived with her daughter Fareeha only a few doors down from her apartment. If she could get the Captain to deliver the schematics to Torbjörn things might just work out. Maybe she could get the Captain to _order_ him to build it... then the little engineer would have no choice but to comply.

"Ibrahim!" Amari shouted angrily. "Go wake Fareeha. If she isn't packing up and on the ship in an hour give her a whooping from me!"

Ibrahim Bey saluted his commanding officer and started dashing off.

"Ibrahim!" Amari shouted after him again. "That was a joke. If you lay a hand on my Fareeha I'll gut your sorry ass. Now get to it!"

Ibrahim saluted Amari again, and dashed off again. Angela actually felt bad for the soldiers. Amari could be very demanding at times. The Captain started striding off, undoubtedly to find more Egyptian Overwatch soldiers to boss around. Angela mustered her courage and moved to intercept the imposing woman.

"Captain Ana!" Angela squeaked. "A moment please!"

"What is it Angela child?" Amari asked impatiently. "Spit it out I'm in a hurry here."

"Well I was wondering if you could ask- order- ask Mr. Torbjörn to ma-"

Angela was cut off as the Captain hastily interrupted her.

"Child I'm busy. Go ask the nosey little man yourself, the door is open."

Amari gestured towards the swinging Officer's Lounge door and put a hand on Angela's shoulder.

"The little man is sneaky. Don't trust him with gossip." The captain said quietly. With a mysterious wink and smile, Captain Ana Amari strode off again, leaving Angela bewildered and blushing.

 _A wink and a smile... she knows..._

Angela bit her tongue and suppressed her smile as she tried to think of other things. She had long suspected that Ana knew about her crush on her. She supposed that this confirmed it in a way. Angela took a breath to collect herself, and then eased her way through the now unguarded Officer's Lounge door. It was dark inside, and it smelled of tobacco smoke and alcohol.

 _Where is Torbjörn?_ She wondered. _First I have to find him. Then I have to convince him..._

Angela looked and looked. The Officer's Lounge was mostly empty, and she saw no sign of the little bearded engineer.

 _Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink._

Angela turned her head towards the familiar sound of spurred boots. Jesse McCree had just wandered into the Officer's Lounge, and was picking up a tray by the buffet.

 _Hmm... Jesse McCree. Maybe he knows how to find Torbjörn._

Angela was apprehensive about approaching him, especially here. If Gabriel Reyes was somehow lurking in the shadows, getting the _Valkyrie_ schematics to Torbjörn would be the least of her worries.

" _I'm glad to see that someone's taken interest in him."_ Reyes voice rumbled in her head. _"Good on you for listening to our friendly neighborhood cowboy."_

Angela shivered at the thought. She had avoided Jesse McCree since that day three months ago. Besides polite nods and waves in the hallways, they hadn't said much since his checkup was completed. Nonetheless, she was determined. _Valkyrie_ would see the light of day today, and nothing could stop her.

"Mr. McCree?" Angela asked from a few steps away.

McCree turned his head almost dropped his tray in surprise. "Dr. Ziegler!" he greeted. "Fancy seeing you here."

Angela smiled at him wordlessly and watched in captivation as the cowboy carved out half of a blueberry pie. She was very jealous of him in that moment. She missed eating pie.

"Mr. McCree... Do you by any chance know where Torbjörn Lindholm is?" she asked innocently.

"Hmm... I might." McCree replied evasively.

Angela waited for him to continue as he filled a glass cup with beer. He didn't say anything else though, and that bothered her.

"I was wondering if you could maybe... do me a favor then?" she elaborated.

McCree shot her a look through the corner of his eye and took a seat in a booth a few steps away. He motioned at her, inviting her to take a seat across from him.

"Come on Doctor. If you're gonna ask me for a favor let's do it over some food." he beckoned.

Angela wanted to tell him that she had already eaten, but she decided against it. She filled a cup with water and took a seat across from him.

"Now what's this favor you need?" McCree asked quietly.

"Torbjörn." She replied simply. "I need to find him."

McCree shot her a quizzical look, but didn't pry. "He should be in his forge around now. He's been working on something. Been busy. Haven't seen him around in some time in fact..."

The cowboy trailed off, his eyes rolling as he thought.

Angela didn't try to hide the fact that she was disappointed. She bit her lip and took a drink of water.

"I need to get something to Torbjörn." she explained.

"What kind of thing?" he asked.

"Some schematics."

McCree looked at her blankly and took a sip of beer. He wasn't being very cooperative today.

"Plans." she elaborated. "Building plans."

McCree still said nothing as he chewed at a hot dog.

Angela frowned at him and wondered why he was being so... _evasive_ still. Was it Reyes? Had he not forgiven her for getting him into trouble? She had been wondering about this for the past few months. Would McCree give her the cold shoulder, or would he forgive her for stirring up trouble? She supposed this was a confirmation of the prior.

Angela sighed and decided to make one last attempt at reason. "Mr. McCree. Will you help me, or am I wasting my time?" she asked pointedly.

McCree finished chewing his bite and replied in a softer tone. "I'll help you Doc. But I have one condition..." he said, trailing off dramatically.

 _If his one condition is going on a date with me I'm going to slap him._ Angela decided.

"What is this condition?" she asked warily.

"Stop calling me _'Mr. McCree'_ Call me Jesse instead."

Angela raised her eyebrows as McCree extended a sticky ketchup spattered hand. She hated getting sticky things on her hands, but she took the jump and shook it. "Nice to meet you Jesse." she said sarcastically. "I'm Angela. Nice to meet you."

McCree laughed at that. He took another swig of beer and shrugged his shoulders. "Favors are for friends Dr. Ziegl-"

"Angela." Angela interrupted.

"Angela." McCree continued with a grin. "I'll help you out sure. I don't mean to be a pain in the ass."

She frowned at him skeptically, but didn't push the sarcasm. "Alright _Jesse_..." she started. "I would like it if you could do me a favor by helping me find Mr. Lindholm. _Sometime today_ preferably."

McCree gave her a disappointed look. "I'm afraid he's inside of his forge now. He won't come back up for the rest of the day. You could go down there and meet him, but you'll need some security clearance."

McCree narrowed his eyes and raised his head a bit. "How exactly did you get in the Officer's Lounge anyway?"

Now it was finally Angela's turn to be mysterious and evasive. "I have friends in high places." she said as cryptically as possible.

McCree gave her a mocking military salute, but Angela could see that the attempt at humor was covering something else. He turned his head slightly to the side, scanning the dimly lit lounge for eavesdroppers.

 _He must be afraid of Reyes... I'll make this quick before he changes his mind._

"If you have the clearance, could you possibly drop off the schematics for me?"

McCree thought about it for a moment, and then accepted. "Fine, I'll do it." he grumbled. "Do I tell him that you sent it?"

Angela didn't know how to approach that. Her plan was reliant on Reinhardt, or another friend of Torbjörn's convincing him to take on the project. Undoubtedly Overwatch's master armorer had better things to do than manufacture some little girl's summer project. She wasn't sure that McCree had that kind of sway over Torbjörn... but he was all she had now.

"Well, I don't think Mr. Lindholm would recognize my name if you provided it." Angela said measuredly. "I've yet to make his acquaintance you see."

McCree looked at her skeptically again. "So what do you want me to do here? Just tell him _'Hey look at this'_ and then leave?"

"I suppose that's better than nothing. If you can get him to look at my plans, that would be a step in the right direction. Also, if you wouldn't mind, give him my contact information. Just in case he finds any of this... _interesting_."

Angela handed McCree a data drive with her schematics, and a business card with her contact information.

"I'll see what I can do." The cowboy said. "But no promises."

* * *

 ** _"Men do not shape destiny, Destiny produces the man for the hour." -_ Fidel Castro _  
_**


	11. Chapter 11: Barter

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Sixth Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Barter  
**

* * *

It was raining in Gibraltar again.

McCree held a small package close to his chest, using his already damp poncho to protect it from the weather. He was off to see Torbjörn for his weekly appointment. Well, more like Gabriel Reyes weekly appointment. He splashed through puddles, and used his wide brim hat to keep the downpour off of his face. Passing through tunnels, hallways, and the Watchpoint courtyard, McCree sought out Torbjörn's secret elevator.

 _Why does that damned blacksmith have to be so damned secretive?_ He wondered in irritation. _Could have just made a forge in the main compound, but no. Has to be a hundred feet underground all the way out here..._

McCree shouldered open a plain door and saluted a guard. "How can I help Sir?" the he asked.

"Weekly appointment, you know the drill." McCree said as he wiped off rain. "Anyone else been by here?"

"No Sir."

"Good. See that we aren't disturbed for a little while will you? The man himself will buzz when it's time."

The guard saluted him again and called in the secret elevator. He entered, and leaned against the side panels as the slow lift made its way down a hundred feet. He reached into the folds of his poncho and found the small box that he had been transporting.

 _Doesn't look too wet…_ _Hopefully this keeps up my half of the bargain. If the old blacksmith is in a good mood, it's as good as mine._

McCree turned his thoughts to the other aspects of his visit to Torbjörn. He did his best to make a list of his objectives, just in case he got too excited and forgot.

 _So... I need to: Pick up the usual. Make a trade... and then Deliver Dr. Ziegler's 'schematics'._

McCree narrowed his eyes as he thought back to that chance meeting from earlier today.

" _If you have the clearance, could you possibly drop off the schematics for me?"_ she had asked.

" _Fine, I'll do it."_ he had said. _"But no promises."_

McCree felt his stomach turn at the thought. Reyes wasn't in Watchpoint Gibraltar at the moment, but he could never shake the feeling of being watched. He could have sworn that those black eyes stared over his shoulders every waking moment, watching his every move. Hopefully this time, his dealings with the blonde Doc. didn't end in more confrontation and trouble.

The elevator shuddered to a stop by the forge's entrance. McCree stepped off, and pounded his fist three times on a solid iron door.

"Who goes there?" someone shouted over the rattle of machinery.

"It's Jesse." McCree answered. "I've got your stuff if you're ready."

The buzzing and humming sounds stopped as the blacksmith powered down his tools and waddled over to let him in. Sliding open on well-greased hinges, the iron blockade moved aside. Torbjörn practically pounced out of the opening, arms outstretched for his precious package.

"Come on hand it over!" The little blacksmith insisted. "I don't have all day!"

McCree sighed and handed over the package. Torbjörn grabbed it up, and excitedly jumped back inside his forge.

"Come in! Come in Jesse!" he insisted. "You'll want to see these too I reckon!"

McCree let himself in, and tried not to choke on the smoky air that filled the forge. What had once been a natural cave formation, was now Torbjörn's secret lair. Complete with hundreds of machining components, and every construction material known to man, Torbjörn's lair was a haphazard mess, packed with sloppy towers of boxes, and tangles of wire and mesh.

The ceiling was low at first, so McCree ducked as he walked through the entry tunnel down to Torbjörn's main workbench. There, Torbjörn was ripping open the package with a large knife. Once it was open, Torbjörn gazed down at the golden contents with a dreamy expression on his bearded face.

"The Winchester thirty-three. The special K-7.62. The 1909 three shot cartridges! My god Jesse you even found the old German ones!" Torbjörn looked as though he might cry. "How did you do this Jesse!?"

McCree smiled to himself as Torbjörn looked over his collection of brass bullets and casings. "I found some gun dealers in Tajikistan. Black market of course, but Reyes didn't seem to mind."

Torbjörn hummed in thought. "Black market you say. What did you end up paying for these old beauties?"

"We... bartered you could say." McCree said dismissively. He didn't want to admit that he had traded some Torbjörn's own custom Three-Fifty-Seven Depleted Polonium rounds.

Torbjörn looked at him suspiciously, but didn't press the issue. Old gunpowder bullets were becoming increasingly rare in the age of cyberwarfare. All of the first world countries had moved to laser, or magnetic shock weapons in their main arsenals. Only impoverished third world countries still used traditional gunpowder rounds, so Torbjörn was having an increasingly hard time finding ordinance for his gun collection.

"So..." McCree casually started. "Are you gonna' honor your half of the deal?"

Torbjörn scowled at him from under his bushy blonde eyebrows. "Yes, Yes, you'll have your precious gun. Follow me."

Torbjörn waddled off to a door in the back of his lair. McCree followed, trying hard to contain his growing excitement. Another solid iron door slid open. Fluorescent lights flicked on to reveal a massive rectangular chamber packed full of gun racks.

Torbjörn's Armory was perhaps the best kept secret on the entire Watchpoint. Besides Torbjörn himself, only McCree and The Big Three knew of its existence. It was a complete collection that Torbjörn had worked on for decades. In it, there were guns from every time period, manufacturer, country, and historical moment.

Torbjörn waddled along the rows of guns, matching each one of McCree's rare black market bullets to its corresponding gun. "Let's see... the thirty-three goes in Row W on Rack 5. The Subsonic-5.56 goes down with the NATO collection in Row N... and the 1887 repeater round goes on Rack 96..."

McCree followed as patiently as he could as Torbjörn painstakingly arranged the bullets around his massive collection. He tried to stay patient for as long as he could, but he gave in after only a few minutes.

"Torbjörn..." McCree interrupted. "Can you just show me my prize? I wanna go try it out while you... _verify_ everything."

Torbjörn huffed at him for interrupting his routine, but nevertheless led him to his 'Old American West' collection. "You're lucky that I have two of these Mr. McCree." Torbjörn said as he reached the gun rack. "If this was my only copy, the brass tax would've been much higher." The little man reached up the gun rack and pulled down McCree's prize.

"The Winchester 1873..." Torbjörn said as he gently caressed the gun. "Chambered in forty-four-forty as requested. With new steel plating, tritium sights, padded stock, and my own custom polonium rounds."

McCree held out his hands, and let himself bask in the glory of his custom carbine rifle. The wooden furniture was polished to a golden sheen. The new steel plating glowed like silver. The tritium sights glittered merrily, and the gun fit nicely into his shoulder.

" _The Gun that Won the West."_ McCree said in wonder. "This was the first gun I ever shot. It's the only rifle I've ever known really..."

Torbjörn smiled at him through his beard. Even if he was losing something dear, he was at least glad that his gun's new owner would appreciate it. "Go ahead Mr. McCree. I've got a box of rounds down by the range. That's one of my custom rifled barrels, so you should get some nice groupings."

McCree thanked the blacksmith and dashed across the armory. In the far back, Torbjörn maintained a small indoor firing range. Throwing on some ear protection, McCree found the box of glowing _polonium-forty-four-forty_ bullets, and loaded ten rounds into the gun.

 _Bang!_ _Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Click!_

McCree emptied out ten rounds in a flash. Eying the target downrange, he could see that Torbjörn's modifications had indeed produced an incredible result. All ten rounds had met their marks within 2 inches of each other at thirty meters.

 _Better than I remember!_ McCree realized with a joy. _Not even nostalgia. This gun is just as good as the one I had as a kid. Hell it's even better!_

McCree loaded another ten rounds in, and repeated the process. He was three sets in when Torbjörn shouted something at him from outside.

"Ay McCree!" Torbjörn shouted from across the armory. "What is this drive thing? Who the hell is Angela Ziegler!?"

McCree groaned as he remembered that he still had unfinished business with Torbjörn. "Back to business." McCree said to his gun. "I'll be back for you Mr. 1873. Don't you go anywhere."

McCree took off his hearing protection, and set his gun by Captain Amari's Sniper Rifle Calibrator. Finding his way out of the firing range, and back down the rows of guns, McCree found Torbjörn eying Angela Ziegler's business card with suspicion.

"Who is this Ziegler fellow Mr. McCree?" Torbjörn demanded. "Is that the black market dealer you traded with? I'm not loading in any data drive that comes from some Tajikistani arms dealer!" The short blacksmith shook Angela's data drive in his fist, looking to McCree for answers.

"Take it easy Lindholm. Dr. Ziegler ain't some arms dealer, she's a Doctor here on base. I was instructed to bring you a copy of her... _scamaticks..._ or something."

Torbjörn narrowed his eyes in suspicion, scrunching his bushy eyebrows into a formidable wall of skepticism. "You're sure this isn't from somewhere else? Why was it hidden away in the bottom of my ammo box!?"

"Easy Lindholm, easy! I put the data drive and the contact card in your package so I wouldn't forget to bring it to you. The Doc is a friend of mine. Just take a look at it and contact her if you like it."

In reality, McCree had included the drive in the ammo box with the intent of catching Torbjörn in a good mood. His gamble appeared to have worked, as the Swedish blacksmith lost his suspicious temper and waddled off to examine the data drive.

"Doctors..." Torbjörn mumbled to himself as he left. "Every little know it all scientist thinks they have the best new death ray, or the cure to all disease, or the source of unlimited energy... always with the _'Torbjörn look at this!'_ and the _'Torbjörn what about this!'_ They don't know anything..."

* * *

 _Bang! Bang! Bang! Click!_

McCree had emptied out the entire box of Torbjörn's custom polonium rounds. He had been at it for what felt like hours, making the firing range hazy with gun smoke, and leaving his 1873 hot to the touch. Ready to call it a day, he picked up his gear and found his way out of the armory.

Back in the forge, Torbjörn was back to work. Machinery buzzed and hummed as the master crafter hammered away at a chunk of brass. A large, statuesque hologram was suspended over his workbench, like some ghostly winged specter that watched over his domain.

McCree approached Torbjörn, and interrupted him again.

"Hey Lindholm!" he shouted over the machinery. "I need the Hellfire stuff!"

Torbjörn nodded at him and powered down some of his crafting machines. "Tell your damned boss that if he loses one more shotgun he'll have to make his own!" Torbjörn said in an irritated tone. He reached under his workbench and pulled up a box packed with red magnesium shotgun shells. On top of the box, he threw on one of Gabriel Reyes custom HellFire shotguns.

"I made three extra this time, but I'll only send them up one by one." the blacksmith explained. "If he keeps losing them, I'll keep making him beg for more!"

McCree didn't really know what to think about that. On one hand, Torbjörn was right to be upset about his boss's haphazard way of losing guns. On the other hand, Reyes used him as an errand boy every time he needed more shotguns, or shotgun shells.

Torbjörn's resolve to punish Reyes, meant that his weekly supply runs to the forge might become biweekly, or perhaps even more frequent.

 _Well, the more I come down here, the more often I get to shoot my 1873..._ McCree realized. _Maybe I'll just let Reyes and Lindholm fight this one out._

McCree lifted the heavy box, and braced himself for the awkward crab walk that was his only way out of the low ceiling forge. Making his way through the lair, and out past the iron door, McCree stepped in the elevator and tapped on the intercom within.

"Hey Torbjörn, mind buzzing me up?" He asked.

"Yeah, yeah." Torbjörn muttered through the intercom. McCree listened as the blacksmith bossed around the door guard 100 feet above. "One cowboy coming up. Be a good man and help him with the door, I don't want him dropping my ordinance." he ordered.

The lift lurched, and McCree was on his way back to the surface. He leaned against the side of the elevator, and let his mind wander as he slowly ascended.

"McCree?" Torbjörn suddenly asked through the intercom.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Who made these plans again? Some Zaggar fellow or something?"

"Dr. Ziegler." McCree corrected.

"Sure, sure, Ziegler, Zaggar, whatever..." Torbjörn said irritatedly. "I want to meet whoever did this Mr. McCree. This is something else... something I've not seen before..."

The blacksmith trailed off, letting the hum of the lift engines fill the empty space.

"Do you want me to bring in the Doctor?" McCree asked into the intercom.

"That's a good idea Jesse. Bring the Dr. Zagger to me. I want to meet him."

"Her." McCree corrected again. "I'll bring her by sometime, but don't count on it being soon. Use the contact card if you have to, I might not be available."

"Young people!" Torbjörn complained. "Always making things hard! Fine. I'll talk to you later Mr. McCree. Hopefully with this Miss Zagger too."

Torbjörn ended the call is a flash of static, and McCree was left alone again.

* * *

 ** _"What is better? to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?"_ ―Paarthurnax, 2011  
**


	12. Chapter 12: Valkyrie

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Sixth Angela Z. POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Valkyrie**

Angela was scrolling around aimlessly on her laptop. It had been over a day since she had sent Jesse McCree to deliver her _Valkyrie_ schematics to Torbjörn. She hadn't heard anything back from either of them, and she was about to give up hope.

 _I should have met him in person... That damned Jesse McCree probably left the data drive in his mailbox or something. I shouldn't have asked him. Should've found someone else. I should have done it myself!_

Angela mentally beat herself for the hundredth time that day. She was tired of waiting. Tired of revising, and tired of sitting in the empty Medbay-3 waiting for something to happen. She wanted _Valkyrie_ now dammit. She _needed_ it now.

Angela clicked around on her laptop for a little longer, and decided to refresh her Overwatch Messaging account for the thousandth time. She almost fell out of her chair when she found a new message from a certain master blacksmith.

* * *

 **FROM** : Torb-Lindholm 

**TO** : Ang-Ziegler 

**SUBJECT** : meating

Dear Doctrer. Zagger ,

I have had as chance to take a loook at the schemtatics that mrMcCree send by yesterdsay. I liek what yoadsfu have done with the design, but I m0st know more. Can you come 447986and meet with me in person somethime? Where can I find you?

. Torbiohrn

* * *

Angela looked over the strange email with a sense of excitement and confusion. It seemed that Torbjörn wanted to meet with her and discuss the designs. That was good news, but it also looked like the blacksmith was having some kind of a stroke over his keyboard. The message was garbled with misspellings and out of place characters.

 _Strange..._ Angela thought. _Still, the email comes from his official handle. It does seem to be a legitimate message. I better set up a meeting._

Angela clicked reply, and had trouble keeping her excitement in check as she typed out a response.

* * *

 **FROM** : Ang-Ziegler 

**TO** : Torb-Lindholm 

**SUBJECT** : I would love to meet you!

Hello Mr. Lindholm!

I'm glad to see that you found my schematics worth looking into! I would love to come and meet with you to discuss the designs. I am currently inside of the Watchpoint Gibraltar Medbay-3. If you would like me to meet you somewhere, I would be more than happy to do so! Let me know when and where you would like to meet.

I hope to see you soon,

Dr. Angela Ziegler

Overwatch Medical Command

* * *

Angela gave the message a good proof reading, and sent it out. She hoped that Torbjörn checked his messaging account often. With a bit of luck, her appointment with the blacksmith might happen sometime this week.

 _If we end up meeting this week, maybe he can start manufacturing next week. If he starts on... let's say... Monday? Then the suit might be ready in a month, and the_ _Caduceus_ _staff might be ready in... two? Hmm..._

Angela let her mind wander with happy thoughts of her Valkyrie suit being built from the ground up. She could almost hear the hum of the wings. See the glow of the healing stream. Smell the fresh leather in the corset...

 _Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!_

Angela was shaken from her daydreams as a call came through her laptop. It was Janice from the front desk.

"Hello?" Angela answered.

"Hi Dr. Ziegler" The secretary started casually. "Some Mr. Toblerone Lindholm is here to see you?"

Angela winced as she heard someone shout in the background.

" _It's Torbjörn! Torbjörn! Not Toblerone!"_ the gruff voice shouted. _"What are you daft!?"_

Janice sighed into the call, as Angela stifled a laugh.

"Would you like me to send him in?" Janice asked.

"No, I'll be out in a moment Janice." Angela responded. "Thanks for your help."

Angela hung up the call, and took a moment to collect herself.

 _I sent my response ten minutes ago! He's here already!_ She thought with nervous excitement.

 _If he came so fast, he must like my design! Still... maybe he doesn't. Maybe he came all the way over here to tell me about issues with it. I can't know for sure..._

Angela tried to keep herself calm as she slipped into her lab coat, and packed up her laptop. She was determined to advocate for herself against the gruff little blacksmith. She would prefer it if he agreed to build Valkyrie as intended, but if she had to, she would fight him tooth and nail to see her dreams realized in her own vision.

"I'm ready." Angela said to herself. "Valkyrie will start today. My _career_ starts today."

Angela strode out of her office with head held high, and her shoulders squared. She did her best to suppress her apprehension as she approached the sounds of another argument erupting in the lobby.

"That's Sir to you missy!" Torbjörn shouted. "If you can't say _Torbjörn_ you might as well say _'Yes Sir!'_ instead!"

Janice stared down the short blacksmith with an incredibly uninterested thousand-yard stare.

"Yes Sir." she muttered. "I'll keep that in mind."

Torbjörn looked as though he might explode into a puddle of red lava.

"Say that with some respect ya cretin! I'm a Overwatch rankin' officer ya know! I'm not just some little fix it handyman, I'm a master armorer of the IronClad Guild! Why y-"

Angela decided to interrupt the furious blacksmith with a polite tap of her heel, paired with a disarming smile.

"Hello Mr. Torbjörn, it's very nice to finally meet a master engineer such as yourself!" Angela flattered. She stooped down and extended a hand for the short Torbjörn to shake.

Awkwardly setting his claw arm prosthetic out of the way, Torbjörn met Angela's hand with his own roughly calloused, and stubby hand.

"Good to see someone has respect around here!" He said in a softer passive aggressive tone. "Come onwards Dr. Zagger, we have much to discuss."

Torbjörn shot one last stink eye at Janice the secretary and stomped through the maze of MedBay-3 lobby chairs. Angela shrugged her shoulders at Janice and followed him at a distance.

* * *

"Some people have no respect for the art! _Art_ I say!" Torbjörn groveled in the lift. "Engineering is an _Art!_ It takes _skill!_ It takes _passion!_ It takes _persistence!"_

Angela let the little blacksmith vent his anger in silence as the secret elevator took her down to his forge. He had been groveling and grumbling since they had left Medbay-3, and didn't seem to be stopping any time soon. Angela wasn't sure if her silence helped cool off the little man's temper, or if it just aggravated it.

She decided to take the supportive approach in an attempt to get on his good side. "Engineering is the difference between life and death in the medical world Mr. Lindholm." She flattered again. "If our expertly designed equipment were to fail during a procedure, it would be a catastrophe!"

Torbjörn looked up at her with an expression of pure joy. "That's _right!_ Exactly _right!_ Engineering is the foundation of the twenty first century! Why if there was no good construction, no good design, we might have never learned how to fly! Or how to use ground effect to implement..."

Angela spaced out as the little blacksmith lectured to her about the merits of Engineering. She nodded and smiled politely, but internally wanted him to stop.

 _At least he isn't angry anymore._ She reminded herself. _Flattery is the best medicine for Torbjörn Lindholm. I must remember that._

Angela felt relief as the lift reached the forge, and Torbjörn ended his lecture. "Right this way Miss Zagger." he greeted, "I'll be glad to get back to work."

She followed Torbjörn through a beautifully crafted iron door, and down a stubby little hallway. When they finally arrived at the forge, Angela was astonished to see just how large the underground facility was. There was an ocean of material filled boxes. Rows upon rows of machines and tools. Tons of litter and sawdust swept into little mountains, and tons of scrap metal thrown all over the floor.

Gingerly stepping around the piles of rusty metal, Angela followed Torbjörn to a central workbench, where an astonishing sight greeted her.

 _Valkyrie._

The white and gold suit was floating over the workbench, suspended majestically under its two golden wings. Angela could barely comprehend the emotions that rolled over her body. Relief. Excitement. Wonder.

"How?" She gasped. "How can this be?"

Torbjörn smiled up at her and tried to pat her back with his claw arm. "It was a good design Doctor. Well thought out! _Well planned!_ It took me no time at all to make a prototype of the suit. The Caduceus staff on the other hand… well, that's where you'll come in."

Angela felt herself approach the workbench, in an almost dreamlike trance. Her eyes marveled at the details of the suit, drinking up the satisfactory feeling of victory. "May I touch it?" she asked in a dreamy voice.

"By all means." Torbjörn replied. "But don't get too excited, there is still work to be done."

Angela came closer to the suit and extended a hand to feel the wings. The golden glowing material felt like slippery plastic, almost like old camera film. The wings were sensitive to the touch, for the moment she felt them the entire suit began to spin over the table, like some spectral golden ballerina.

"The wings were well designed." Torbjörn admitted. "But in their current form they make the suit unstable in flight. If you're ready Miss Zagger I'd like to get to work on some modific-"

Torbjörn was cut short as Angela knelt down and hugged him. She giggled into his ear and fought back tears of pure joy. Breaking her embrace, she placed a kiss on the little Swede's forehead and laughed at the dancing Valkyrie suit.

For the first time in a long time she felt pure joy. There was music in her ears, and she felt like singing and dancing with her creation. She let tears of joy run down her flushed cheeks unashamedly, for this was the greatest euphoria that she had known in her short life.

 _So much work. So much time. It's over! Valkyrie is here. It's real... I did it... It's beautiful, and graceful, everything I dreamed of and more…_

Angela could feel burdens lifting off her shoulders. No more MedBay. No more hassles with the Medical Command. No more hours of working late into the night. No more check ups, and no more band-aids for Reinhardt. They would see now. They would _all_ see her genius. They would all be humbled by her creation, as it changed the world one broken man after another.

Torbjörn tried to hide his reddening face as he used his good hand to rub Angela's lipstick off his forehead. "Women…" He muttered under his breath. "I'll never understand 'em..."

The short blacksmith waddled off and gave Angela some time to collect herself. Once her tears had dried, and her euphoria faded, Angela was ready to work.

"I don't mean to burst your bubble Miss Zagg-"

"Ziegler." Angela corrected at last.

"Miss Ziegler…" Torbjörn said with another reddening of his face. "But some of the material choices in the suit were… not very well thought out if I may say so."

Angela nodded at him, and tried to keep an open mind as he attacked her creation.

"For example, the breastplate of the suit is currently consists of molded polymer over a layer of quarter inch soft rubber. That might be good for stopping air pellets, but it'll do you no good in a _real_ fight. I suggest that the molded plastic be supported by layered kevlar instead of rubber. You'll get more protection under fire, and it won't add very much weight."

Angela thought about Torbjörn's words carefully before responding. She wanted to get as much as she could out of the master crafter, but also didn't want him to change the intended purpose of her creation.

"Mr. Lindholm. I'm not sure you understand the merits of my design. The Valkyrie project was designed for noncombatants. There shouldn't be any combative application."

Torbjörn looked up at her skeptically, so Angela decided to reword herself into a plainer worded response.

"I didn't intend this to be a suit of armor Mr. Lindholm. It is for medicinal purposes only. There should never be a reason for it to be in a _'real fight'_."

Torbjörn still said nothing, only offering a disappointed shake of his head. He waddled off to his workbench and started fiddling around with the boxes under it.

 _Did I offend him?_ Angela wondered. _Surely he didn't call me all the way down here to boss me around. He said he needed my help._

Angela tried to figure the emotions of the little blacksmith as he all but disappeared under his workbench. Had she wounded his ego somehow? Perhaps that was it.

"Torbjörn, I'm sorry If I disappointed you." she called under the table. "I know you're a master armorer, and I'm sure that it's just natural for you to think of things in terms of… protection. I'm sure we can find common ground on this, I'm willing to listen..."

Angela let her rambling apology die in her throat as Torbjörn crawled out from under the table. He didn't look mad, or upset. Instead, there was a strange sadness on his face as he looked down at something in his hands. It was a chunk of metal, what appeared to be a piece of shattered armor with holes punched through it.

"You see this here Miss Ziegler…" Torbjörn said bitterly, holding out the broken armor. "This here is what fightin' looks like today. Armor piercing electromagnetic rounds that cut through steel and flesh like a hot knife through butter. This here used to protect a friend of mine. He was a 'noncombatant' too.

He told me that he was just a journalist. That he didn't need armor, just a shoulder rack to mount his camera. He told me that the Geneva Convention protected him. That The Hague Convention protected him. That the Nuremberg code protected him! Well, none of the Omnics seemed to give a shite' about human philosophy. They shot him full of bullets, press badge be damned!"

Angela was surprised by the bitter sadness in Torbjörn's voice. She had never expected the little blacksmith to be so… emotional in his reasoning.

"Torbjörn I'm sorry." She whispered. "I didn't mean to bring up anything... unpleasant for you."

"Don't be sorry Miss Ziegler." he replied solemnly. "Just promise me that you'll allow me to practice my craft. I want protect people the best I can. I'll never lose another soul to philosophy."

Angela tried to think as Torbjörn put away his shattered armor. She didn't want Valkyrie to become an instrument of war, but she also didn't want to risk hurting Torbjörn. From the ache in his sad eyes, she sensed that he blamed himself for each time his armor failed a friend.

"Fine." she said after some thought. "I promise."

Torbjörn patted her arm in agreement, and regained some of his constructive attitude. Angela followed his lead, and they both spent the rest of the evening laboring away on Valkyrie.

* * *

 _ **"Brave Romans to the Man!"**_ **-Roman General, Total War Rome II, 2013**


	13. Chapter 13: ColdSteel

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the Seventh Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 13: ColdSteel  
**

McCree tumbled in his sleep again. He was falling down. Always falling.

 _It had been weeks since the whipping. People still made fun of him, beat him, and called him cripple as he limped around the gorge on his crutches._

" _A few steps today, a few more tomorrow, and you'll be jogging next week." Doc. Mourthal had said._

 _Despite the old Doc's positive attitude, McCree knew that things weren't going well. His broken toes had become infected, almost costing him his entire foot. His shoulder was still stiff, and he wasn't able to extend his arm up past his ear. And his back. His back ached all night and all day. It itched and burned, and tormented his every move for hours on end._

" _In the gorge men have to be strong" Goldwater mocked. "We're entitled to what we own Mr. McCree. And I say your crutches are as good as mine now."_

 _Goldwater came for the crutches as McCree feebly fended him off with his good arm. It was no use. He was sprawled over the pavement and vomiting as Goldwater and the other Deadlocks laughed. They kicked him, and let Rosita Rose kiss him on the cheek as he gasped for air._

" _Remember this next time you try and fuck my girl Jesse." Goldwater laughed._

 _They left him like that, burning up on the pavement out under the Western sun. Camille saved him eventually. His last friend in the gorge besides the Doc._

 _A short haired Latin woman of twenty-three, Camille Salazar was all that stood between Jesse McCree and the revenge of Jason Goldwater. She harbored him in her room, and fed him food from her own plate._

 _What had he done to foster such loyalty out of her? McCree could barely remember now. She had been abducted by the gang years before he had. So she knew his pain, and understood his struggle. She had been the only Deadlock to ever show him kindness. She was the only one that ever would._

 _Nights later they awoke to the sharp cracks of gunfire. Camille got her gun and dashed out of the room to get the news. McCree feebly got up tried to stand again. The ground was waving like an ocean under his feet, but he could stand. Limp more like._

" _Get up! Get up you bastard!" Camille shouted at him. "They're here! Policía! We need to leave!"_

 _Camille placed her skinny frame under his, helping him limp out of her room and into the hallway. She stuck his gun in his hand, and anchored herself under his good arm. They hobbled out into the gorge, avoiding the sounds of gunfire and screaming._

 _Something terrible was coming their way. Crashing and smashing its way through the gorge, shredding entire buildings like a giant stepping upon ant hills._

" _Jesse!" Camille yelled. "I'm leaving you here. I'll come back for you. Just stay. Don't fight if they come for you, just surrender!"_

 _Camille set him down against the crumbling wall of the Deadlock Gorge "Cave Inn" Hotel. She started to walk away, but turned back to speak on more time._

" _Promise me Jesse!" She shouted. "Promise!"_

 _McCree tried to say something, but couldn't. The ground was lurching from side to side, and he felt as though he might vomit again. Camille gave him an exasperated yell and started running off towards the sounds of battle, her gun drawn and ready._

 _So McCree waited. He heard the battle rage on throughout the gorge in the dead of night. Someone had cut the power, and the half-moon only provided enough light to see the smallest of details._

 _People ran down the road, fleeing from the fighting. Most of them were captives. He could tell by the rattling of their shackles, and sound of their bare feet slapping against the pavement. Every now and then he could also hear rhythmic jingle jangle of spurred boots fleeing from the fight. Things had to be bad if Deadlocks were running too._

 _His fears were confirmed as Camille came back for him. She was panting, and bleeding from her neck. It must have hurt her to speak, for she didn't say a word as she dragged him into the Cave Inn Hotel. Something terrible was coming down the road. Thunderously loud footsteps, and the sounds of horrible destruction came from outside._

 _The pounding footsteps grew closer and closer. Camille spat out blood, and went outside the hotel without another word._

" _YIELD!" a giant voice yelled._

" _No! Never!" Camille shouted through her raspy throat._

 _Three gunshots rang out in the dark, and a terrible battle cry screamed out in response._

 _McCree felt the whole building shake as a giant hammer tore through the side of the hotel. Camille screamed for a second, but was silenced forever under the sound of the falling ceiling._

 _An armored Reinhardt lumbered into the hotel through the hole in the wall, shaking chunks of the ceiling down with every earthshaking step. McCree straightened himself against the wall, raised his gun feebly with his injured arm. Reinhardt stopped before him and began raising his hammer._

" _DO YOU YIELD?" The giant German shouted down at him. "YIELD OR DIE!"_

 _McCree coughed and tried to say something. His arm hurt, and he was struggling to keep his gun steady. He wanted to take a shot, to take revenge for his fallen friend. He tried to cock the hammer, and pull the trigger, but his fingers wouldn't move. He fought with his reflexes as hard as he could, but his arm collapsed by his side, dropping the Peacemaker Revolver in the rubble beside him._

 _Reinhardt must have taken mercy on him then, he assumed. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he could remember very little more about that night. Someone cuffed him and put a bag over his head. He was put in a truck, and driven off somewhere far, far away._

* * *

"Kid! McCree! Jesse!" Reyes whispered with increasing urgency. "Get up! Get up!"

McCree opened his eyes and blinked as frozen air assaulted them. He was in a tent, and had been sleeping under a thin thermal sleeping bag. He tried to remember where he was, and what he was doing.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he mumbled. "What's goin' on?"

"Omnics." Reyes whispered. "Two or three of them. Coming up from west of our position. A scouting party I think. They don't know we're here, so we can get the jump on em' if you hurry up."

McCree nodded at him and started getting ready. He had been sleeping in his combat uniform just in case something like this happened. He pulled on his boots and equipped his belt as he reminded himself of the mission.

 _Greenland Unimate Op._ He remembered. _Omnics working around some kind of small Omnium plant in the Greenland Qaasuitsup region. Mission is to assess military threat without blowing cover._

McCree felt his tactical mind speed into high gear as Reyes handed him his 1873 repeater. Reyes stuck two of his own giant Hellfire shotguns into his chest bandolier and threw on a giant white arctic expedition jacket. He slunk out of the tent and motioned for McCree to follow.

 _It's cold. About negative thirteen degrees right now. I need gloves, but no coat. Gonna need my full range of motion. I'll be fine as long as I can get back to shelter in a few moments. Gotta make this quick._

McCree put on his combat gloves and followed Reyes outside the tent. The Greenland air was painfully cold at this time of night. He winced as it instantly burrowed through his combat suit and deep under his skin.

Moonlight illuminated the snowy hill upon where their tent was pitched. They had built a small snow wall around their tent, hoping that it would protect them against any thermal imaging the omics might have equipped. It appeared to have worked, as the omnic scouting party still hadn't discovered their location.

Reyes was crouched by the snow wall, peering over the edge like an overgrown child monitoring a snowball fight. "Still got a couple seconds." He whispered. "You stay here with your rifle. I'll go down the hill and mop up If I have to, but we don't want to raise the alarm yet."

McCree nodded and loaded ten polonium bullets into his 1873 repeater. No alarms meant that he would need clean headshots. He would have to be fast too, or the omnics would warn the Omnium mother base of their position via wireless comms.

McCree watched as Reyes slunk around the snow wall and out of sight down the hill. He punched a hole in the western part of the snow wall, and stuck his gun through. He waited and watched for movement, hoping that his frozen fingers would be ready when the time came.

About two minutes passed before he saw the first of them. The cold steel frame of the omnic glittered in the moonlight as it trudged up the hill oblivious to the ambush.

"Scouting. Scouting. Scouting." the first omnic chanted to itself. Another omnic appeared after the first, chanting to the tune of "Monitoring." Lastly, a third omnic appeared behind the others chanting "Analyzing."

McCree fixed his sights on the odd trio and tried to gauge their heading. They would pass near the encampment, and were almost certain to raise the alarm. He had to wait until they were close enough to shoot, but also far enough away that they wouldn't detect him.

"Scouting. Scouting. Scouting."

"Monitoring. Monitoring. Monitoring."

"Analyzing. Analyzing. Analyzing."

They moved closer and closer, turning their heads from side to side, using thermal imaging mounts to check for any disturbances. It appeared that the omnics had also equipped some kind of webbed steel snowshoes to walk over the snowy terrain. McCree made a mental note of his enemy's tactical abilities, and lined up the first shot.

 _Bang!_

The first omnic dropped to the ground, its head and thermal mount exploding into a spray of scrap.

 _Bang!_

The second omnic had its head severed by a clean shot to the neck.

 _Bang!_

The final omnic staggered and fell as a forty-four-forty polonium round cut its head into two clean halves.

McCree listened intently as the echo of gunfire faded away. He didn't hear anything that sounded like an alarm. Just quiet. Complete quiet.

"Reyes, are we good here?" he shouted down the hill.

Reyes stood up from behind a boulder and gave him a thumbs up. "Come down here kid, I wanna' show you something!" he shouted up.

McCree gave him an affirmative wave, but stepped back inside the tent to grab his arctic expedition jacket. The cold was sinking deep into his chest now, and he was afraid he might catch hypothermia if he stood around much longer in only a combat vest. Trudging down the hill McCree met Reyes by the fallen omnics.

"Fancy shooting kid." Reyes complimented. "I didn't know if you'd be any good with that tacky rifle."

McCree smiled and accepted the rare compliment. Even if it was disguised as a slight, gratitude from Reyes was a rare thing.

"So what do we have here?" McCree asked, nudging a fallen omnic with his boot. "Strange little chanting thing they were doing right?"

Reyes nodded at him and reached down to pick up one of the omics heads. It was the second omnic's head, the one who had its neck shot away.

" _Monitoring. Monitoring. Monitoring."_ The head said quietly as Reyes examined it.

"It's more than a little strange." Reyes replied. "This model of omnic should be… _conscious_. _Alive_ if you believe in that kind of thing."

McCree didn't know what to think of that. Omnics were just bits of steel and cable to him. He had met a few sentient ones in his travels, but he wasn't inclined to think of them as _alive_.

Reyes seemed to read his thoughts. "It's okay kid, I don't really care for em' either. Blew up hundreds of these bastards with Jack in the old Omnic Wars… Still though, they can think. Or they should be able to. These guys here… not so much."

He shook the sputtering omnic's head as it continued to mumble its chant. "Along with these snow shoe adaptations, and the thermal imaging apparatuses… I think…" Reyes trailed off and looked to McCree. "Kid, why don't you try and tell me what you think."

McCree put his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. _Snow shoes. Thermal Imaging. Lack of thinking… Someone probably took these guys over. Reprogrammed them, or repurposed them for Greenland. And the thermal imaging? That would only be useful against humans and maybe bears this far north…_

McCree cleared his throat and shared his conclusions. "I assume that someone repurposed these omnics. The snowshoes suggest that these guys were adapted for the tundra. The thermal imaging means they were supposed to be looking for nosey humans such as ourselves, and the lack of thinking…"

McCree trailed off again in thought. He couldn't really solve that piece of the puzzle yet. Reyes gave him a good natured pat on the back, and held up the omnics head.

"Good try kid, good try. I wouldn't expect you to know that last one, it's from before your time. These Omnics were conscious at some point. You're right that they were repurposed and adapted for this area and task… but you said that _'someone'_ repurposed them. That's where you're wrong. It isn't someone, it's something. An AI program. A rogue one it looks like."

McCree squinted his eyes in thought. _A rogue AI program? What the hell is that?_

Once again, Reyes seemed to read his thoughts. "What we used to call a God AI in the old days. An Artificial Intelligence program that hijacks omnics to make them drone workers for a larger hive. This one looks pretty sloppy though. Not very threatening is it?"

Reyes held out the head and chuckled as it stuttered on its chant. _"Mon- Mon- Moni- Monit- Monitoring- Mon- Mon…"_ He dropped the head in the snow and crushed it under his boot. The stuttering voice was squelched, leaving nothing but the howling of the wind over the hill.

"I'm also not sure why the AI chose to build its Omnium plant all the way out here." Reyes continued. "No raw materials here. No good energy sources. No tactical advantage to speak of. But I'm not really concerned about any of that. We know the AI doesn't want to get caught by humans, and that's enough evidence for me to assume that it isn't up to any good."

Reyes offered McCree a rare smile as he pointed to the tent up the hill. "Go grab the AirKit. Let's call in some hand warmers."

McCree liked the sound of that. "Yes Sir."

"Oh, and bring down my green pack yeah?"

McCree nodded at him and trudged back up the hill. He wanted to leave this frozen hellhole as soon as possible, but in that moment he didn't mind having to stay a little longer. It wasn't every day that they got to call in airstrikes.

In no time at all, they had the AirKit up and running. A short ski pole shaped device, the AirKit read wind patterns and provided GPS coordinates to Overwatch Watchpoints around the globe. This one had a flare on it, and was designed to be stuck in the snow.

Reyes pulled a radio transceiver out of his green pack and handed it to McCree. "You do the honors kid. Dial it in, op code is _Omega_." he rumbled.

McCree was surprised by the gesture, as Reyes had never let him call in ordinance before.

"This is Operative Juliet Mike Charlie, Mission _Greenland Unimate_ , Operating code Omega. Requesting fire support three kilometers west of my position. We have AirKit up, and can dial in when ready. Flares also available."

McCree did his best to iron out his southern drawl as he spoke. He was talking to an Icelandic radio officer in Watchpoint Keflavik. Undoubtedly, the Icelandic speaking officer would have a hard time understanding his accent all the way in Iceland.

"Roger that." The also heavily accented radio officer replied. "Type of fire support requested?"

Reyes nudged him and rubbed his hands together. McCree thought was having maybe a bit too much fun with all this.

"Requesting a BunkerBuster paired with Napalm."

The Radio officer sighed, and started up a prerecorded message. An eerily cheery British woman proceed to inform them about the ethical ramifications of using napalm.

" _Protocol III of the United Nations Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons restricts the use of incendiaries to nonhumans only. As part of the United Nations Charter for Peace, Overwatch is required to abide by international peace accords and bans set in place by the international community. If your ordinance call is found to violate any of these treaties, you may be held liable for a trial in The Hague High International Court of Justice. By confirming these coordinates, you take responsibility..."_

McCree mimicked the British woman's recording with his hand. Reyes scoffed and shook his head as she babbled on for a full two minutes. Eventually the Watchpoint Keflavik radio officer came back on the line.

"Sorry about that, it's a formality with the incendiary ordnance. Can you just verbally confirm for me that you will not be committing any human rights atrocities in Qaasuitsup?"

McCree smiled at the radio operator's formal sarcasm. He could tell that he hated the red tape just as much as any other operative.

"No humans here Sir, I don't think there are any this far north. We just need to cook an Omnium." McCree replied.

"Very well, One Intercontinental Ballistic Missile will be launched in the next two minutes. Loading in multiple reentry vehicles with incendiaries and BunkerBuster. Dial in when ready."

McCree hung up and dialed the appropriate commands on the AirKit.

 _Bang!_

The AirKit shot up a bright red flare that bathed the snowy hill in a bloody red light. Reyes sighed to himself and rummaged around in his green pack for a moment.

"Kid, come here." Reyes said.

McCree turned to him, and was surprised to see two flasks bourbon in his hands.

"Don't mind if I do!" McCree said enthusiastically. They both downed a shot and stared up at the bright red flare.

"Kid, I have some good news for you." Reyes said slowly. "You're being promoted."

McCree coughed on his bourbon and looked at his commanding officer incredulously. "I'm being promoted?"

Reyes nodded and took another swig. "Our little Blackwatch experiment… It's been going well so far. _'Mr. Strike Commander Jack Morrison'_ has given me permission to expand it bit."

McCree casually sipped his bourbon and tried not to look too interested. Reyes never told him anything about the rest of Blackwatch, and he didn't want to push his luck.

"Expanding Blackwatch means that I'll be busy. It means that you'll have to look after yourself, and not get into too much trouble without me nannying you." There was a slight edge to his voice then, but nothing dangerous. "I'm going to promote you to the rank of Lieutenant. You'll be the very first enlisted Blackwatch officer, second in authority only to me."

McCree could hardly stand. He felt as though he might fall over from the shock. He opened his mouth to say some words of thanks, but Reyes silenced him with a single raised finger and another swig of drink.

"I'm not done yet kid. As Lieutenant you'll be able to sign off on things, and do administrative duties in my stead. Also, you'll be able to move out of the barracks and into an Officer's Suite. In addition, you'll be given a salary and shore leave. I've arranged for a salary of thirty thousand IR-Credits per month, with another thousand being added for every month you don't fuck up."

McCree obliged himself and took a seat in the snow. This was too much. Too much to take in all at once.

 _I'm free._ He realized. _Shore leave. A salary. An Officer's Suite, and administrative privilege. I'm finally free. My sentence has been served, and I'm free!_

McCree felt giddiness, but also extreme nervousness. He had never had a real job before. He had just followed orders and done what was expected of him his entire life. This would be something new. Something he had never known before.

"Sir I don't know what to say." he started. "I've never even had a job before. Tha-"

Reyes cut him off again. "Don't you dare thank me boy. _Show me_. Prove to me that I didn't screw up by handing you the big boy guns."

Reyes finished off the last of his drink as McCree replied with a simple. "Yes Sir." He followed his commander's lead and drowned out his apprehension with alcohol. The high proof bourbon warmed his stomach and squelched his nervousness for the most part.

"Looks like the Omnium is waking up." Reyes observed. "Luckily, our missile is here too."

McCree stood up from the snow and scanned the horizon. Sure enough, lights were flickering in the valley three kilometers to their west. The Omnium motherbase had probably seen their red flare, and it was raising its forces in response. Hundreds of shiny metal omnics marched around in the snow far below, sparkling like bits of glitter in the moonlight.

On the eastern horizon, the missile was flying in. Looking like some strange shooting star, it rumbled closer and closer until it broke apart and released its two projectiles. One of the bombs, what McCree assumed to be the BunkerBuster sped up and flew over them down into the valley.

"I think that's the Buster. Mission accomplished." McCree muttered.

Reyes prominently removed his combat gloves and held his hands out towards the valley below.

McCree followed his example and thumbed off his gloves as the BunkerBuster made contact with the Omnium. It made a small but loud explosion, shattering the armored facility open, and sending a massive shockwave up the hill. Above their heads, the incendiary entry vehicle fired its burner and started speeding down towards the now wide open Omnium.

The napalm hit the base and produced a blindingly bright light. A giant fireball erupted from the impact zone, as the roar deafened out every other sound. From three kilometers away McCree felt the heat on his hands and face as the fires melted away tons of snow in the valley below.

The fireball faded into a giant black mushroom cloud that blotted out the moon. Clouds of vaporized water rose into the air, filling the valley below with a strange grey fog.

"That napalm burns at fifteen thousand celsius kid." Reyes mumbled as he put his gloves back on. "Fifteen times the boiling point of water. Nothing like that to warm you up on a cold night."

McCree chuckled as he tried to blink the image of the fireball out of his eyes. The extreme brightness of the explosion had practically blinded him.

"Let's get outta' here." McCree suggested.

"Amen." Reyes agreed.

* * *

 _ **"Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest of people."** _**\- Mr. Fred Rogers, (1928 - 2003)**


	14. Chapter 14: Versus

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the eighth Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Versus  
**

Angela frowned as Torbjörn's coffee machine sputtered and clinked defectively. They needed coffee right now. This was the worst possible time for the machine to break.

"Torbjörn!" Angela called sleepily. "The coffee machine isn't working!"

Torbjörn stumbled over from across the forge, and smacked the machine with his claw hand. "Work you damned thing!" he yelled as the machine rattled. "Work!"

Angela sighed as the machine started producing frail and watery coffee. She could have sworn that the brew was getting progressively weaker every time they tried to pull an all nighter. She briefly wondered Torbjörn had sabotaged it.

 _Everything else in his forge works perfectly..._ She observed with a yawn. _He must have broken it on purpose. He wants me to get out of his hair and take a nap._

Angela eyed Torbjörn suspiciously as he waddled back over to his workbench. Dark bags had formed under his eyes, and his usually chipper _'back-to-work'_ attitude was missing completely. His usually neatly groomed beard was a mess, and his entire body sagged as he moved about.

 _Maybe I pushed him too hard… maybe I'm pushing myself too hard…_

Angela had neglected herself for a few days now. Her hair was a mess, and her usually spotless white lab coat was covered in motor oil and metal shavings. She hadn't showered, or had a proper meal in days.

 _Maybe I should take a nap._ She admitted with another yawn. _We'll finish off when we can think without caffeine._

Making up her mind, Angela informed Torbjörn of her plan to take a break. She was mildly irked by how happy he was to hear the news. It confirmed her theory about the coffee machine in her mind. Nevertheless, she trudged out of the forge, up the secret elevator, and back to her suite. As soon as her head touched the pillows, she was out cold.

* * *

 _Thump! Thump! Thump!_

Angela was startled awake as someone pounded a fist upon her door. Blinking the in the dark, she rubbed sleep from her eyes, and tried to make sense of things. She wanted to take a moment to collect herself, but the hand at the door thumped again impatiently. Stumbling over in the dark, her heart fluttered as she eased open the door.

"You Angela Ziegler?" A tall man asked as she cracked open the door.

"Yes?" Angela replied.

"May I come in?"

Angela rubbed her still blurry eyes in an effort to wake up more. The lights from the hallway were pouring brightness onto her sleepy face, blinding her from making sense of things. She felt dreary and overwhelmed. Like an egg that had cooked in the pan for too long, or an apple that had gotten too ripe.

 _Who is this man?_ She wondered as she let him in. _That voice is familiar..._

Angela flicked the lights on winced as the brightness overwhelmed her. She took a moment to let her eyes adjust, and was startled to discover that her unexpected guest was Strike Commander Jack Morrison.

"You doing alright kid?" Morrison asked her gruffly. "I didn't want to wake you, but this can't wait."

Angela struggled to make sense of this new development. Jack Morrison, the head of Overwatch, was _inside of her room_ waiting to speak to her directly. Whatever had she done to cause this?

 _Jack Morrison is in my room._ She realized with an increasingly reddening face. _This is embarrassing. This is very embarrassing._

Angela tried to choke out a response, but found that her throat was suddenly dry. Her face was flushed red, and her heart was fluttering about nervously.

"Listen kid, go get a drink of water." Morrison suggested. "I'll wait on you, but I wanna get going here."

Angela managed a nod and squeaked out a word of thanks. She retreated to her private bathroom and tried to compose herself as she lapped up water from the sink.

 _Jack Morrison is in my room. Oh my god no. This is so embarrassing. I'm wearing a nighty and he's here with his strike commander outfit. I didn't even say hello! It wasn't supposed to happen like this!_

Angela made a nervous throat sound as she looked herself over in the mirror. In her eyes, Jack Morrison was easily the most attractive man on the Watchpoint, if not the entire organization of Overwatch. She had been dreaming about having him in her bedroom ever since she'd first laid eyes on him at her induction ceremony two years ago.

With his broad shoulders and slim frame. His well-defined muscles and deep blue eyes. Blonde hair and a perfectly rugged yet elegant face... and his strike commander outfit. She loved that uniform. It made him look so dangerous and graceful...

Angela tried to push her naughty thoughts away. They were doing nothing to calm her already pounding heart and deeply red face. She had to play this cool, and work with what she had.

 _I'm wearing my nightie. If I pull down the front like... this... It shows off my... neckline... a bit. And my shorts. If I roll up the waistband a little he'll see my legs. I have good legs. He has good legs. I hope he likes them. I like his._

Angela spent a moment making herself as casually attractive as she could, and then stepped out of the bathroom as daintily and confidently as she could. Commander Morrison had taken a seat on her bed. He used a free eye to acknowledge her as he monitored information on his Tactical Visor.

 _Jack Morrison is on my bed..._ Angela thought lustfully. _In his uniform... In my room late at night..._ _If I sat in his lap right now what would he do? Have his way with me? Or would he make me beg like a little girl? Hmm..._

Angela had all but given up on trying to contain her lustful thoughts. Her crush on Jack Morrison was nothing to be ashamed about, as almost all the women in Overwatch shared her opinion on him. This was her chance. Her moment to shine and compete with all the other women who vied for a night with the dashing commander.

"Sorry to keep you waiting Commander." She said seductively. "I wasn't expecting any visitors at this hour."

Morrison nodded at her and motioned for her to take a seat beside him on the bed. Angela felt her heart flutter excitedly as she complied.

"So Miss Ziegler, I'm here to talk about the design that you submitted to the Overwatch Medical Command."

Angela felt her fluttering heart stop mid-beat. _"Submitted to the Overwatch Medical Command!?" What...!? Torbjörn! That little bastard submitted the design without telling me! I'm going to strangle that little..._

Angela gritted her teeth and scrunched up her eyebrows in rage. She clenched her fists and became as stiff as a board. Morrison seemed to notice, and responded.

"So I take it that you didn't know?"

"No. I did not submit those designs Commander Morrison. I assume Lindholm Torbjörn did."

Morrison offered her a halfcocked smile as he stood from the bed. "Call me Jack." Morrison said as he paced around her bedroom. "May I call you...?"

"Angela." Angela said disheartenedly. Moments ago she would have gushed at the idea of knowing the Strike Commander on a first name basis. But news of Torbjörn's treachery had soured her sexual mood.

"Alright, Angela." Morrison continued. "I'm afraid that I lied. No plans were submitted to the Medical Command. Instead, Torbjörn saved you a lot of trouble, and grief by sending the design to me directly."

Angela followed the Morrison's words carefully. _'Saved a lot of trouble and grief?'_ This was a more serious meeting than she had realized at first.

"Angela, I wouldn't expect someone like yourself to know this, so I don't blame you. But I do want you to remember this for future reference. Overwatch has lots of parts and components to it. A lot of interests and differences of opinion too. We work with a lot of people, a lot of nations, and a lot of other organizations. If you ever make something as remarkable as the Valkyrie project again, you tell no one but me, Captain Ana Amari, or Lindholm Torbjörn."

Angela tried to find the hidden message in Morrison's cryptic explanation. _Don't trust the Medical Command? Only Morrison, Amari, or Torbjörn?_ _What could he possibly mean by that? Who is he afraid of?_

Angela offered a timid "Yes Sir." and wondered if it was appropriate for her to ask questions.

 _He clearly thinks that Valkyrie is significant. He wants to keep it hush hush... but why? Am I allowed to ask? He is my superior... I'm not to question his decisions... But, Valkyrie is also my design. I'm entitled to know what is to become of it._

"What does this mean for the Valkyrie project Commander?" she asked innocently.

"Call me Jack." Morrison insisted again. "We'll all be friends soon enough. Valkyrie might continue, or it might not. It really depends on you, and how willing you are. I won't say more now. I want you to get ready and meet with me at the forge at ten thousand hours."

Angela confirmed with another "Yes Sir." and watched as the Strike Commander walked out of the room. Alone again, she took a moment to reflect on the Commander's words one last time.

" _Valkyrie might continue, or it might not…_ _It depends on you, and how willing you are..."_

* * *

Angela tried to calm her nerves as she walked over to Torbjörn's secret elevator. She had been repeating Commander Morrison's words in her head for hours now, trying to make sense of her suddenly difficult position.

Angela was good at solving problems, and she was a regular master at navigating seas of bureaucracy and red tape.

" _Fourteen year olds cannot attend Medical School!"_ the Zürich Girls Orphanage headmistress had told her _. "Stop wasting our time Angela!"_ But she hadn't given up, and she continued to waste their time. Angela remembered how she had petitioned the Swiss government, and gotten a special grant to attend medical school at the age of fourteen.

 _Those were hard times. But I persevered in the end._ She remembered.

Or the other times red tape had held her back. When she tried to leave medical school early to learn surgery at the age of seventeen. _"Too young."_ The Hospital Chief had said. _"You'll not study surgery until you graduate."_ So Angela proved them wrong again. She spoke to her older classmates at the medical school and convinced them to draft a petition to the Administration. After the petition was delivered, (and her medical exam scores broke national records) the Chief relented and let her join the elite surgery team.

 _I did it then. I can do it again. I'll fight the Overwatch Administration if I must. Valkyrie will see the light of day._

This wouldn't even be the first time that she had fought the Overwatch Administration. When she had learned all she could about surgery at the Swiss National Hospital, she applied to join the Overwatch Medical Command. The command refused to admit someone who had only been in Medical School for three years, and had only studied surgery for a mere nine months.

 _I sent them a video of me performing a double lung transplant._ She remembered. _They didn't doubt me then. I got the acceptance letter the very next week._

Angela thought back on those experiences as she made her way through the secret entrance, and down the secret elevator. _I need to be calm. I need to be cool. I have to negotiate, and not give in to their demands._

Angela pulled out a pocket mirror and fixed her hair as the lift slowly descended. She had dressed in her regular lab coat, a warm black turtleneck sweater, and a knee length red skirt. Paired with red earrings, red nail polish, and her signature red flats, Angela was going for a sexy, but business casual look.

 _All part of my war plan._ She reminded herself. _I'm attractive, smart, confident, and in charge of the Valkyrie project. If I use everything I have, Morrison and Torbjörn will be clay in my hands._

Angela kept hyping herself up as the lift bottomed out at the iron entrance to the forge. Angela took one last deep breath, and pounded her fist against the door confidently.

"Angela is that you?" Torbjörn called from the depths of the cavernous forge.

"Yes it's me Torbjörn! I believe we have some kind of get together going on?"

Angela heard the pitter patter of Torbjörn's footsteps as he approached the door. Her war plan called for a cold, passive aggressive tone used against him.

 _Torbjörn_ … she thought disdainfully. _Tricked me into taking a nap, and then got me in trouble with Morrison. If he still thinks we're friends he's mistaken…_

Torbjörn opened the door, and practically pounced out. "Angela!" he said excitedly. "We're all ready! Come on down! You'll _love_ this!"

Angela blinked as Torbjörn took her hand and led her down the stubby hallway.

 _He's in such a good mood…_ Angela observed. _Why? Doesn't he know that I'm upset with him? Should I let him know that I am...?_

Angela swapped around strats in her Valkyrie negotiation plan as Torbjörn led her down the hall, and to the main workbench.

 _If Torbjörn is on my side, maybe he can convince Morrison to let me continue the project… I'll be nice to him for now. I'll pick bones with him once this is all over._

Angela nodded to herself as they got closer to the workbench. _Confident. Attractive. In Charge._ She repeated. _Clam. Cool. Strong._

Angela and Torbjörn finally made it to the workbench. Laying spread eagle over the table was the Valkyrie suit, with the caduceus staff laid beside it. Torbjörn ran ahead of her and picked up the staff.

"It's done Miss Ziegler!" Torbjörn exclaimed. "After you went up for your nap last night, I made a breakthrough! It works!"

Angela couldn't help but grin. She had waiting to try the staff for so long. "Go ahead!" Torbjörn insisted, handing it to her. "Try it on me!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes I'm sure!" Torbjörn huffed. "Hurry up before Morrison shows up. He's no fun!"

Angela gripped the staff and pointed it towards Torbjörn. She braced herself and pulled the trigger. The staff jolted and shot out a bright golden beam. The beam flailed around wildly for a moment, latching onto a wrench on the worktable, and then a chunk of iron under the table. Eventually the beam connected to Torbjörn and stayed there.

" _Ha Ha Ha Ha!"_ Torbjörn laughed. "It tickles! It tickles! Not for too long Angela!"

Angela was grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. Torbjörn was laughing so hard that he had fallen, and was squirming on the floor. Part of her wanted to keep the funny little blacksmith under the beam for a few seconds more. But she relented and eased off the trigger, leaving Torbjörn gasped for breath.

"Torbjörn, can you try it on me?" She asked excitedly. "I want to see how it feels."

Torbjörn heaved as he recovered from too much laughter. "Fine give it here. Sit down or something so you don't fall. You won't be able to keep your balance with those funny shoes on..."

Angela listened to Torbjörn and hopped up onto his workbench. Using her hands to anchor herself on the edges, she nodded and let Torbjörn fire it up. Once again, the beam flailed around, connecting to things made of metal. A steel ingot, a screwdriver, and then Angela.

She gasped as the beam hit her square in the stomach. It felt like a hundred tiny feathers were brushing against the inside of her tummy, tickling at her from the inside mercilessly. Torbjörn laughed along with her as he moved the beam up and down her body. On her neck, the healing stream felt like a million tiny ants crawling around on her skin. On her calf, it felt like a warm jacuzzi jet. And on her thighs… it felt… _pleasurable_.

"Torbjörn stop!" Angela gasped. "I- I- can't breathe! _Torbjörn stop!_ "

Torbjörn just laughed and let the beam zap away at her. Angela laughed and laughed, squirming around on the workbench as the beam traveled over her body. Eventually Torbjörn let up on her, leaving her gasping for air.

"I think the targeting circuit might need some work!" Torbjörn chuckled. "That _'healing-stream'_ of yours attaches to just about everything. Doesn't stick like it's supposed to."

Angela knew what the problem was, but she couldn't make any sentences yet. She was still gasping for air, letting the heat of laughter and arousal fade out of her body.

 _Torbjörn you little bastard. If that beam stayed on my hips for one more second… uhh that would have been so embarrassing. I stopped when he said stop… I won't be so easy on him next time._

Angela sat up and hopped off the workbench, still panting for air. Her carefully combed hair had become a mess in her fit of laughter, so she tried to fix it with her hands the best she could. While she worked away, Torbjörn called someone up on his intercom system.

"Lads, our distinguished guest is here. Hurry on back here or I'll start without you." he huffed into a microphone. Soon, Commander Morrison, and Jesse McCree appeared out of a door in the far back of the forge.

 _Jesse McCree?_ Angela wondered. _What is he doing here?_

Angela's negotiation tactics relied on her focusing the attack on Morrison. If Jesse McCree was there to back him up, the Commander could easily strong arm her into a worse position. Angela bit her lip and thought up new strategies involving McCree.

"With respect, I'm a better shot than you Commander." McCree gloated as they approached the workbench.

"Please Kid." Morrison replied. "You're good with that Peacemaker of yours, but I'm a better rifleman any day of the week. Using that custom gun was practically cheating."

"Yeah, well I'd like to see you shoot without that Tactical Visor."

"Well I'd like to see you use a big boy gun instead of those little cowboy pea shooters."

The men laughed and bantered as they approached the table. Angela was mildly surprised by how upbeat and happy everyone was. She had been expecting tough stern-faced negotiations, where she would have to fight tooth and nail for the future of Valkyrie. _This…_ was a different atmosphere entirely. She decided to let Morrison explain himself a bit before she launched her better negotiation tactics.

"Well, we're all here!" Torbjörn said. "Go ahead Mr. Morrison. Tell us!"

Commander Morrison nodded at Torbjörn, and leaned against the workbench, peering over the Valkyrie suit right into her eyes. "Angela, I went ahead and submitted parts of your design to trusted people within the Medical Command a few hours ago. As Torbjörn predicted, no one there was able to make sense of your designs."

"They weren't able to make sense of them?" Angela asked incredulously. "Torbjörn himself told me they were good. They made sense to him, why not the Command?"

Morrison offered her a wordless smirk. He turned his head to Torbjörn and let him explain.

"We submitted the design for the Caduceus staff Angela." the Swede explained embarrassedly. "Same as it was for me, no one in Geneva could make sense of it. The design was just too… _complex_."

Angela couldn't believe it. The Overwatch Medical Command HQ in Geneva had some of the greatest medical minds known to man. If they couldn't understand her Valkyrie Caduceus… what did that mean for all her hard work?

McCree cleared his throat and spoke to her directly for the first time. "What our friend Torbjörn is trying to say is that your designs are too complex for him, the command, or anyone else in this organization."

"Correct." Morrison said, chiming in. "You're the only one who truly understands this… _nanobiotechnology_ you call it?"

Angela nodded as her heart rate elevated. She stepped closer to the workbench and leaned against it like Morrison. She wanted to project a relaxed, but protective body posture. It didn't matter if no one understood the design, it worked regardless.

"You say you only submitted the Caduceus design. Why is that?" She asked.

"Your friend Torbjörn advocated for you." Morrison explained. "He told me that you didn't want this Valkyrie suit used in military applications."

Angela furrowed her eyebrows as she tried to understand what Morrison was hinting at. "Military Applications? In the Medical Command? I'm afraid I don't follow that logic."

Morrison looked pained, as he reached into his Strike Commander jacket and pulled out some sheets of paper. "Alright kid, we've been having a nice little chat here, but It's time to get serious." the Strike Commander said grimly. "You're asking questions. Questions you that you deserve to have answered, but require security clearance to understand."

Angela nodded as her heart pounded away. Morrison's body language had changed. His easygoing lean against the table was replaced with a stronger, more authoritative stance. His hands were crossed against his chest, and his head was held high.

 _A show of dominance._ Angela deduced. _Our disarmingly friendly chat has ended, and the real negotiations have started. He's going for a strong central push, an ultimatum… I'm willing to bet that Jesse McCree will come in with a side offer… The side offer is the real objective, they just want to give me the illusion of choice. I won't fall for it. They underestimate me._

Commander Morrison reached over and placed the documents on the Valkyrie suit. "If you want to know anything else from this point on, you'll have to sign these non-disclosure documents." the Commander said.

Angela reached over and grabbed them up. She skimmed through the papers, careful to make it look like she wasn't paying too much attention to them. _Page 1: Standard stuff. Required to not discuss terms of meeting, contents of meeting, circumstances of meeting. Page 2: Required to not discuss any trade secrets revealed inside the meeting outside of the meeting. Page 3: Don't disclose any personal information provided… and… Aha! Sign over the rights to my intellectual property!_

Angela put the papers back down and thought over her position in silence. _I'm the only one who understands the nanobiotechnology. The master builder Lindholm Torbjörn can't build the Caduceus without my help, and the Medical Command is just as stumped. Morrison doesn't trust the command, but he does trust Torbjörn… but he also wants me to sign away my rights to the Valkyrie project. He wants to strip me of my negotiation position. If Morrison owns the rights to Valkyrie, I'll have to give into his demands._

Angela understood what Morrison was trying to do, but she could not piece together why he was doing it. She didn't have any intentions of becoming rich off the design. She just wanted to help save lives, to see her work used for the betterment of humankind.

Angela mustered up all her courage and decided to do something risky.

"Fine." She said. "Pen please."

Morrison smirked in victory and handed her a black fountain pen. Angela slouched over the workbench into a more submissive posture. She started signing the first page, and watched through the corner of her eye as Morrison whispered something to McCree. Torbjörn turned about face, and nervously chiseled at a chunk of tin.

 _Don't you worry Torbjörn…_ Angela thought. _Negotiations aren't over yet._

Angela finished filling the first page, and got to work on the second one. Morrison stayed in his dominant body posture, but Angela sensed a change in McCree. The cowboy's eyes were fiddling around nervously, and he was ever so slightly shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

 _He's reciting his side offer._ Angela realized. _The second I finish signing page three, Morrison will try to force me into a bad deal. McCree will then come in with some seemingly good alternative that Morrison had him recite in front of a mirror this morning. Nice try cowboy. It won't work._

Angela finished filling out the second page. She stood up straight from her slouch over the workbench, and placed the two finished pages back on the Valkyrie suit. She locked eyes with Strike Commander Jack Morrison, and took satisfaction in seeing him flinch as she ripped Page three into pieces.

If looks could kill, Jack Morrison would have dropped her in a blink. The Commander did a good job at looking unbothered behind his poker face, but to Angela's trained eye he was laid bare. The lips that were pressed together so hard that they had lost color. The slightly quivering eye that wasn't covered by the tactical visor. And the clenched jaw that didn't move as he breathed. She had caught him off guard, and now his negotiation plan was ruined.

"You asked me to sign some ' _non-disclosure documents'_ Jack." Angela said sweetly. "If you thought I would just sign anything you handed over you were mistaken."

Torbjörn laughed openly as Angela rubbed salt in the Commander's wound. McCree choked on his words, but there was a grin on his face too.

"A tough little negotiator our Angela is!" Torbjörn laughed. "I couldn't have done better myself! Well done Angela!"

Torbjörn waddled over from across the workbench and patted her on the back. Angela was just glad that someone was on her side in this. Under the workbench, her legs were quivering in fear. Morrison was the leader of all of Overwatch. Pissing him off might have been a gamble played too close to the chest.

"Angela is a tough one." McCree admitted, rubbing his bearded chin in thought. "I thought we might be underestimating you… but that was slick. Well played Dr. Zee."

Angela gushed as Morrison's coalition crumbled. Both of his negotiation partners were on her side now. The three versus one talk had now become one versus three.

"Yes, yes, very well played Angela." Morrison said in a sarcastic deadpan tone. "You've signed the nondisclosure forms, but skipped the Intellectual Property Waiver. _Very_ clever. I'm glad you can read."

Angela was taken aback by how passive aggressive the Strike Commander was getting. She would have to be more accommodating now. If she made enemies with Morrison, her entire career at Overwatch might suffer.

"Well, now that I have non-disclosure signed, maybe you could explain what you meant by _Military Applications?_ " Angela asked in a simple back-to-business tone.

"Helix." Morrison said gruffly. "The Military-Industrial-Complex as we call it back in the States. Helix-Security-International does business with us on a regular basis. They provide the flight suits that Captain Amari's Grenadiers use for example. They also stock our aircraft with good missiles, and do some transport work for us. The only issue is that they… are _sometimes_ guilty of _corporate espionage_ as well."

Angela listened intently as Torbjörn elaborated. "Helix International has _borrowed_ a lot of designs and technology from us over the years. They aren't the only ones either. Volskaya Industries, LumériCo, Vishkar Corp… they're all… _guilty_ of it too. Reverse engineering our weapons, re-adapting our technology, and then selling it back to us at a higher price. I knew for a fact that if we sent your design to the Medical Command, Helix would end up getting their hands on it. They've been stealing our flight technology for years now."

"That's why submitted _only_ the Caduceus staff to _only_ our most trusted people in the command." McCree explained. "If you'd submitted Valkyrie to the wrong people, the flight suit would've become standard army issue before the week was out."

Angela pushed fingers against her temples as she tried to make sense of what she was hearing.

 _Overwatch is compromised._ She realized. _If I had submitted the Valkyrie on my own, some military company might have snatched it up._ _That's what Morrison was trying to tell me this morning. Torbjörn saved me from a lot of 'trouble and grief' indeed._

Angela sighed deeply. She wanted to sit down and take a breather. This was all too much too fast. But she couldn't give up yet. She had to find out what Morrison's intentions were, and why he had tried to trick her into surrendering her Valkyrie Intellectual Property.

"So then explain to me why you wanted me to sign away my rights." Angela insisted. "What would that have accomplished for you Commander Morrison?"

Morrison sighed deeply and finally eased out of his standoffish pose and tone. "As I'm sure you've figured out by now, you hold most of the cards in this negotiation. Only you understand the technology, and only you can see it put to good use. I was hoping that by taking away your rights, I could pressure you into our next proposition."

Morrison reached into his Strike Commander coat and pulled out another stack of papers. "Enlistment." he said simply. "If you, Angela Ziegler, formally join the military branch of Overwatch, I'll fund your project and give you complete authority over its use and application within the organization."

Angela tried to breathe slowly as the room became tense. "Do I have any other options?"

"None." Morrison said darkly. "You'll accept this deal, or I'll pull my last trump card. I'll have you terminated, so you can try your luck somewhere else."

Angela shivered at the Commander's tone. He wasn't playing around this time. He had every intention of firing her and casting her out if she did not comply with this final demand. Still, she had a choice.

 _Should I try my luck somewhere else?_ She wondered. _Overwatch is compromised. It isn't the beacon of goodness and salvation that I dreamed of… but where could I do better? If I left Overwatch and tried to get a foreign government or corporation to take on the project, wouldn't they just use it for military means as well?_

Angela wanted to take time to research her position. She wanted to make an educated choice that would be best for her and all her hard work.

"May I have some time to think this over?"

"No." Morrison said. "I want an answer before you leave this room. We've shared too much information for you to just walk away from this, non-disclosure or not."

Angela became nervous then. She had a gut feeling that she was being coerced into something she might later regret.

 _If he demands that I join him, I ought to at least find out what that means._ She decided. _I'll have to press the commander for details._

"What does this all mean for me Commander?" Angela asked quietly. "What would my role be in the Military Branch?"

"You'd become a designated battle medic." Morrison replied. "You'd personally wield the Valkyrie suit and staff to assist with our peacekeeping operations."

Angela was taken aback by that. She had always dreamed of flying around in the Valkyrie suit, saving teary eyed orphans from tsunamis and earthquakes. But this…

 _I always wanted to be a field medic… patching up wounded soldiers from both sides. Bringing a sense of humanity and compassion to the savagery of war… but a Battle Medic? I always saw someone else taking up that role… I want to work from the safety of a field hospital, not in the thick of the smoke and gunfire._

"I'm not sure that I'm cut out for that role." Angela said. "I wouldn't mind being a field medic, but a battle medic is a step too far Commander."

Morrison sighed and shook his head at her. "I know what you're thinking Angela. You're thinking that you should stay behind the battle lines and use your Caduceus to save those poor bastards who get airlifted into the field hospital. But I'm telling you that I don't need that. I've got a whole goddamned Medical Command that specializes in that craft, and it still isn't enough. A majority of the men I've lost in over the years die on the way to the Medic's tent. What you have here is special. This is potent stuff. Stuff strong enough to keep my people alive in the heat of a fight. And I want it Angela. I want it badly. So you'll become a Battle Medic for me, or you'll take your project somewhere else."

"But someone else could operate the suit!" Angela insisted desperately. "Anyone else could operate the suit as a battle medic. I could help Torbjörn make more suits and more Caduceus staffs. Enough to make sure that your soldiers get the healing they need."

Morrison shook his head at her again. "If there's one thing I know as a Strike Commander it's this: ' _Never give Soldiers equipment they don't understand.'_ You, Angela Ziegler are the only person on earth who understands this kind of tech. And for that reason, you are the only person I'll ever trust with its use."

"What If I taught someone?" Angela pleaded. "Taught them all I know about nanobiotechnology? If I taught someone the technology, and trained them on how to use the equipment, they could be battle medic in my stead!"

Commander Morrison looked her dead in the eye and didn't even bother shaking his head. "I've told you my reasons Angela, and I'm tired of being second guessed. Take a few moments to think on my offer, and then give me your final answer."

* * *

 **"Money is not the only answer, but it makes a difference."** **-** **Barack Obama**


	15. Chapter 15: Operator

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the eighth Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Operator  
**

"I've told you my reasons Angela, and I'm tired of being second guessed. Take a few moments to think on my offer, and then give me your final answer." Morrison said in his gruff monotone voice.

McCree eyed Angela as Morrison verbally twisted her arm. She was doing well for herself so far, but it looked like Morrison had finally gotten to her. The confidence and tough attitude that she had come into the room with were gone, reduced to pleading and bargaining.

 _She's tougher than she knows._ McCree thought to himself. _She stared me down a couple times. She beat out Morrison's paperwork trap. Hell, she designed an advanced flying suit and healing wand. She'd do fine as a battle medic if she got the proper training…_

McCree watched hopefully as Angela crossed her arms, and rolled her eyes around the room in thought. She was looking beautiful despite her desperation. A chest-tight turtleneck sweater. A spotlessly clean lab coat. One of those nice leggy skirts that he loved so much. It was all colored and matched expertly. Very fashionable he thought.

" _She's smart. Good lookin' too" Morrison_ had told him. _"I've got a feeling she'll play dumb though. Try to fool us into thinking she doesn't know what she's doing. So, we should act comfortable and easy going at first. Try and get her comfortable, so we can get her guard down. Once she's signing the papers you say your line. Remember it?"_

" _Sure do."_

" _Pretend I'm Angela."_ Morrison had insisted. _"Recite it, and give it your all this time._

 _McCree thought and tried to remember the circumstanced under which he would give his little speech. "With Respect Commander Morrison, I think Angela should still get to work on her Valkyrie suit. She designed it after all. And she's the only one who understands it. Why don't we let her join the PeaceKeeping Branch as a Battle Medic? She'll get to keep working on the project, and she won't have to go back to working for the Medical Command. What do you think Angela?"_

" _Not bad. Just make sure it sounds spontaneous. I don't want her to think we've been rehearsing this."_

" _Yes Sir."_

McCree blinked away his memories and looked back to Angela. Her blue eyes were rolling all over the forge as she paced back and forth. McCree wished that she would look at him for once. So she would know that he was on her side.

After a good five minutes of pacing and thinking, Angela seemed to have made up her mind. "I'll enlist Commander Morrison. But I have conditions."

Morrison gritted his teeth, but didn't say a think as Angela made her demands.

"I want security clearance. You said that if I enlisted I would get _'complete authority over Valkyrie's use and application within the organization.'_ But something has come to my attention. If I join the Military Branch of Overwatch, you would become my military Commanding Officer. I assume that this means I must follow your every order without question?"

Morrison nodded and squared his shoulders defensively.

"If that's the case, I'll have no way to hold you to your end of the agreement." Angela pointed out. "I want security clearance to make sure that you don't someday decide to weaponize my project."

"No can do." Morrison insisted. "I reserve the right to withhold information from all under my leadership. You'll have to take my word on honor. A _'gentleman's agreement'_ if you would."

Angela frowned at Commander Morrison and tapped her heel. "No _'gentlemen's agreement'_ will cut it Commander. I want security clearance."

McCree could feel Morrison growing agitated next to him. The Commander was proud, and he wasn't used to little blonde girls questioning his authority so directly.

 _She is right though._ McCree thought. _If we wanted to weaponize her suit, we could. If she tried to stop us, Morrison would just order her to stand down, or maybe even discharge her. Security clearance allows her to check our black ops files to see if we're doing any naughty R &D with her tech. And you can't just fire someone with security clearance. They become a security liability. _

Once again, McCree was impressed with how well Angela navigated Commander Morrison's bureaucracy. She had a talent for it, that was certain.

Across the workbench, Torbjörn shuffled his feet and tried to look taller. He was getting ready to say something, something that McCree assumed the commander wouldn't like.

"With respect Commander." Torbjörn began. "I take Angela's side on this. The girl created this suit for the sake of healing and peace. She wants to make sure that it isn't abused. Isn't that her right?"

McCree felt words buzzing around his head. He wanted to say something. To chip in his own support behind Torbjörn's. But was it safe? Morrison was supposed to be teaching him. Training him to become an officer and administrator for the Blackwatch expansion. If McCree made an enemy out of him, his career at Overwatch might suffer.

"Torbjörn you know we can't just go around handing out security clearance." Morrison rumbled. "The only Overwatch Agents get that kind of clearance. And I'm sure as hell not letting some little MedBay Doc. become an agent."

Torbjörn stood up straight walked over to Angela. He took a stand next to her and made himself clear. "I've been in this organization just as long as you have Jack. And I vouch for Angela. I've come to know her over the past few days, and I think she'd make a fine Agent. She's smart. A good negotiator. And she works hard and long. We could use someone like her around here. She gets things done."

McCree watched as Angela smiled the sincerest of smiles at Torbjörn. They extended hands and held them in solidarity.

" _Oh come on Lindholm!_ Don't start with that sentimental _bullshit_." Morrison scoffed. "McCree you're with me on this right? We can't just give any teenage kid Agent status."

McCree tried to stop himself, but before he knew it the words were out of this mouth. "I'm afraid not Commander. I think Angela would make a fine Agent. It's like Torbjörn said. She's brave. Smart. And a damned good Doctor too. I don't think we would have too much to worry about with her getting clearance. We've had less deserving people get it before."

Morrison squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at McCree. _"Treachery."_ he seemed to be saying. " _You'll regret that kid."_

McCree turned away from the angry Strike Commander and found Angela's eyes. She was looking at him with a beautifully hopeful expression. She looked so simple and serene. McCree was tempted to walk over and hold hands with her like Torbjörn.

 _Ha. She'll thank me later._ He thought. _No hand holding for me though. I'm on her side, but I can't push my luck here._

Morrison sighed in angry exasperation. He tore up Angela's enlistment papers and threw them over the workbench. "Fine." He growled. "It's on your heads if our newest agent fucks up. McCree you're in charge of training her. Lindholm, you're in charge of outfitting her. And both of you are to personally make sure that the Valkyrie suit, and Angela Ziegler are ready for deployment by next week."

"Next week?" Angela gasped.

"That's right." Morrison replied nonchalantly. "We have a big operation coming up next week, and I want to see how you perform. A _'trial by fire'_ if you will."

McCree felt his mouth grow dry. Morrison was screwing them all over. Setting them up to fail. He, Angela, and Torbjörn had pissed of the Strike Commander royally. And now their careers at Overwatch would pay the price.

"Sir, with respect, we'll need more than a week to get Dr. Ziegler ready." McCree pleaded. "She's never held a gun. Never been in a fight before. Never learned any of the skills she needs to go on a mission."

"Well maybe you should've thought about that before you suggested making her an Agent Hmm?" Morrison grumbled evilly. "This is a _'trial by fire'_ for you too Mr. Jesse McCree. This is your first test as an Overwatch Officer and Administrator. I'm sending you over all the paperwork and red tape _bullshit_ and goes with making a teenage MedBay Doc. an Overwatch Agent. Best of luck with that."

Morrison straightened his Strike Commander coat and stormed out of the forge.

* * *

The trio skulked around the forge in silence. No one said a word as McCree paced, Torbjörn tinkered, and Angela sat with hands on her cheeks.

 _I've never seen Morrison so pissed._ McCree observed. _He's mad. Really mad. Any chance of me getting Officer training from him is gone. And the paperwork… I don't know how to do any of that stuff. I'm not a secretary. My handwriting is shit. I doubt anyone would even be able to read the forms I'll fill out…_

McCree continued skulking as Torbjörn finally spoke up. "Alright kids." Torbjörn announced. "I don't like all this standing around. We need to move. Get back to work. We have six days and twenty-three hours before Jack comes down here again!"

McCree and Angela turned to look at the hopeful Swede, but didn't but didn't move a finger in response.

Torbjörn huffed in agitation and tried again. "McCree stop making a chicken out of a feather and get over here. Angela get off my workbench and stop moping! We have things to do! We'll prove that Strike Commander wrong!"

McCree couldn't help but appreciate Torbjörn then. The little blacksmith had an unbreakable spirit. He wouldn't give in to Morrison no matter how heavily the odds were stacked against their favor.

"Fine." McCree said, strolling over. "Where should I start?"

"Where should _we_ start?" Torbjörn corrected. "We're all in this together now, for better or worse."

"Right." McCree agreed. "Angela we need you over here. Come on now."

Angela took her hands off her cheeks, and slid off her perch on Torbjörn's Workbench. She kicked off her red flats, and joined the group quietly.

"Alright then." said Torbjörn. "Let's start with a review. Angela is now an Agent of Overwatch. McCree will need to fill out the paperwork, and I will have to make the equipment. Angela herself will need to undergo some serious training over the next six days to get ready for a mission at this time next week."

Angela's head drooped and turned away as Torbjörn listed off the impossible tasks. Her face was hidden behind a sheet of disheveled blonde hair. Despite the covered face, McCree sensed that she was holding back tears. Her whole body slouched, and her legs quivered ever so slightly. He wanted to help, but wasn't sure how to.

"Now, now Angela…" Torbjörn reassured. "I won't let you give up before we start. You must be strong. For me, and for Mr. McCree here."

Angela nodded weakly, and Torbjörn patted her back with his claw arm.

"Now, what we need to do is split up the tasks." Torbjörn continued. "Any suggestions?"

McCree thought about his paperwork dilemma. He had a gut feeling that Angela would be far better equipped to fill out the Overwatch Agent paperwork than he was. But was it appropriate to him to ask her? When she already had so much on her plate?

 _If I do that paperwork we're all screwed._ He realized. _I'm shit at paperwork. Angela here is probably a master. I gotta let her take it over._

"How about this." McCree responded. "If Angela helps me with my paperwork, I'll get her going on the shooting range. We can get her started on the military training today, and that'll give us a heads up on what kind of equipment Torbjörn will need to make over the next six days."

"Good plan McCree!" Torbjörn exclaimed. "I'll finish up our Caduceus calibrations Angela. Don't you worry about them."

Angela nodded again, but kept her face down, and her back slouched. Torbjörn offered her a mischievous smile, and grabbed the Caduceus staff off his workbench. "Now Angela…" Torbjörn said in a playful tone. "Chin up, or I'll give you a taste of healing stream."

Angela kept her face hidden behind her hair, and used her hand to push away the Caduceus that Torbjörn had aimed at her stomach.

"Chin up Angela!" Torbjörn insisted.

"Torbjörn please…" Angela whispered. "I need a moment."

Torbjörn just grinner harder and moved his thumb to the trigger. "Chin up! Or I'll shoot!"

Angela took a deep breath and straightened herself out. Her slouch went away a bit, and she brushed some of her hair behind her ear. She wasn't crying, but her one exposed blue eye was red and bloodshot.

"That's more like it Angela." Torbjörn said, putting down the staff. "You go with Mr. McCree now and start your training."

Angela nodded, so McCree took the lead and started strolling down to Torbjörn's Armory. The blonde Doc. followed at a distance, the soft taps of her bare feet accenting the jingle jangle of McCree's spurred boots.

Down the forge they went. Past the piles of scrap metal and the sea of material boxes. Past rows upon rows of tools and machinery all the way to the hidden armory.

McCree flipped on the lights, and held the door as Angela walked in. "I suppose this is the first bit of confidential information you'll learn Angela." McCree said, in an attempt at humor. "Torbjörn has a big ass collection of guns a hundred feet under the ground."

McCree watched as Angela's one exposed eye widened in surprise. She turned left and right, peering down the rows and rows of gun racks, trying to figure out just how expansive Torbjörn's collection was.

"How?" She whispered. "How did he get all of this down here? And why?"

"Torbjörn likes guns." McCree responded simply.

McCree pushed onwards, down the center row to the firing range in the back. Angela silently followed behind him, tying her hair into a ponytail along the way.

 _How am I going to do this?_ McCree wondered. _Angela here has probably never held a gun in her life. Doesn't know any of the basics of shooting… and I've got a hunch that she doesn't care to learn how._

As they walked down through the armory, McCree picked guns off the racks and tucked them under his shoulder. Once they arrived at the firing range, he set them down on a table and turned to Angela.

"Alright, Angela. As a Battle Medic, you'll be in the thick of things. Have you ever been in a fight? Ever held a gun?"

"No." Angela said softly.

"That's fine." McCree continued. "You're only a medic, not a solider. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you'll have an escort to protect you from anything nasty. I'm only training you on the use of weaponry in case there ever is a time when you gotta hold your own."

"For that one-percent of times when someone tries to kill me." Angela said gloomily.

McCree eyed Angela and tried to read her. She was disappointed. Distraught. Holding herself together by a thread just barely.

"No one's gonna get killed." He reassured. "Morrison might have put on the tough guy act, but he won't put you in harm's way on your very first mission. I'm sure of it."

Angela nodded at him, so McCree decided to start the training. "Alright. First thing about guns is to always assume that they are loaded and ready to fire. Doesn't matter if the safety is on, or the chamber is empty, the gun is _always always always_ loaded and hot. Does that make sense?"

Angela nodded again.

"Alright then. If the gun is always loaded, you never point the weapon at anything you don't intend to shoot. As an additional safeguard, I also want you to keep your finger off the trigger if you aren't ready to shoot. Only put your finger on the trigger if the safety is off, and you already have a target in sight."

Angela nodded again.

"One more thing about gun safety. Guns are loud. _Very_ loud. In an indoor firing range like this one, the sound of gunfire will have a harder time dissipating. It's very important that we keep ear protection on as we shoot. Only issue is that you won't be able to hear my instructions with the earplugs and earmuffs in. We'll communicate via sign language. Just be very careful that you don't accidentally hand gesture with a gun instead of a hand."

Angela nodded again, so McCree decided to end the lecture. "Alright, let's get started. Put on these earplugs, and these ear muffs."

McCree watched as the blonde stuck the chunks of foam in her ears daintily. Her hands were so small and delicate. Her wrists so thin. He hoped that she would be able to manage the recoil. McCree put on his own ear protection, and picked up a nine-millimeter pistol.

"Stand here." He said loudly. "Now watch how I hold the gun. Got it? Now you try."

McCree handed the pistol to Angela and watched as she grasped the weapon with an improper two handed grip. "Watch the thumb Angela. This slide here will come back when the gun is fired. If you leave your thumb there, you might just snap it off."

McCree moved Angela's thumb and looked at her body posture again. Her back was hunched over, shoulders were lax, and her knees bent.

 _Come on Angela…_ McCree thought. _I know you don't wanna do this, but you gotta stand up straight. Need to have good form…_

McCree moved in closer to correct her shooting stance. Suddenly Angela stiffened and scrunched up her face.

"Ahhhhhh!" Angela yelled.

McCree backed up and realized his mistake. Angela still wasn't wearing shoes, and he had just crushed her toes under his boot. Angela made pained sounds as she dropped the gun and fell to the floor. Tears ran down her face freely, as she used her hands to massage her crushed toes.

"Angela I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Angela I'm sorry."

McCree kicked himself mentally as she wept on the floor. He picked up the gun and set it aside. Taking a knee next to his injured pupil, McCree tried to comfort her. She was sobbing deeply now, heaving, sniffling, and shuddering.

 _She was holding it together just barely._ He remembered. _I hurt her, but this is just as much emotional as it is painful for her. Crying might do her some good though. She needs to vent a bit. Get it all out._

McCree got out of his kneeling position and sat on the floor across from Angela. He didn't want to get too physical with her, but he did extend a hand to massage her crushed toes.

"It's alright Dr. Zee." He whispered. "Don't you feel ashamed or anything. Just cry. Get it all out. Take your time."

* * *

 ** _"There is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing."_ -John "Lofty" Wiseman**


	16. Chapter 16: Bond

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the ninth Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 16: Bond  
**

"Have you ever been in a fight?" McCree asked her. "Ever held a gun?"

 _Have I ever been in a fight? Have I ever held a gun?_ Angela asked herself disjointedly. _How did I end up like this? How did I get here?_

"No." She replied. _"And I never want to either."_ She wanted to add.

 _I'm a Doctor. A pacifist. I took an oath and swore that I would do no harm… and I just sold my soul to the devil for a bit of funding and some job security…_

"That's fine." McCree continued. "You're a medic, not a solider. Ninety-nine percent of the time, you'll be protected from anything nasty. I'm only training you with weaponry in case you have to hold your own."

Angela listened to McCree subconsciously. She heard his words, but they became all jumbled and lost in her swollen mind.

 _I'm safe ninety-nine percent of the time._ _One percent of the time I'll be dead. Dead for the sake of advancing my career. Dead because I was tired to checking up on Reinhardt at the Medbay. Dead because I'm a stupid little girl who doesn't know her place…_

Angela went through the motions of training. She squeaked a softly worded reply once, and nodded when she thought McCree said something important. Before she knew it, she had hearing protection on, and a firearm in her hands.

 _I don't want to do this. I hate guns. I hate killing. I hate fighting. I hate violence. I don't want to defend myself... I don't want to be defended…_

Angela spiraled around in defeatism as she absentmindedly copied McCree's shooting stance. Her heart wasn't in it though. Nothing about this gave her hope.

McCree came closer to move her thumb, saying something about it being snapped off. She couldn't tell for sure under the earplugs and earmuffs. He moved behind her to do something else, and she bit her tongue in shock as he crushed her toes with his boot.

"Ahhh!" She screamed.

She was on the floor suddenly. Her toes hurt so badly. McCree's hard spurred boots had crushed her soft skin and chipped at her painted nails.

"Angela I'm sorry." The cowboy muttered. "I didn't mean to… Angela I'm sorry."

" _It's okay."_ She wanted to say. But under the tears and emotional stress, the words just wouldn't come. McCree took a seat beside her and cupped the hurt foot in one of his big hands. He patted her toes and blew on them softly.

"It's alright Dr. Zee." McCree whispered. "Don't you feel ashamed or anything. Just cry. Get it all out. Take your time."

So, Angela did. She cried and cried. Sobbed and sobbed. Heaved, shuddered, and collapsed. Today was one of the worse days that she had ever had the misfortune of living through.

 _I want Reinhardt._ She realized. _I need my giant friend to come and hold me. To tell me it's going to be alright. Tell me that he'll protect me under his giant shield like he did in his war stories._

Angela let her emotions work themselves out with time. Eventually her tears subsided, and she got some of her emotions back in check.

"Jesse, I'm sorry If I scared you." She muttered with a hiccup. "You didn't mortally wound me, I'm just a bit upset that's all."

McCree eyed her from under the cover of his wide brimmed hat. "Pieced that together myself Doc. You feeling any better?"

"Not really." Angela whispered, her voice still husky from crying. "I don't know what I've gotten myself into. What I've gotten the three of us into."

 _I asked McCree to deliver the schematics._ She remembered. _And I went out of my way to get Torbjörn to help. I dragged them into this mess by asking for favors. I should have done it myself! I didn't mean to hurt my friends..._

Angela felt her cheeks tighten as another heaving sob worked its way up her throat. McCree seemed to understand her thoughts. He understood that she was beating herself up, and putting herself down.

"Don't blame yourself Angela." He said with a firm squeeze of her shoulder. "What you made is great. Don't you ever doubt it. It takes a lotta guts to make something and put it out into the world. To create things that people don't understand."

Angela hid her face behind her hands again. With her smeared makeup and messy hair, she felt ugly and weak. Not strong and attractive and _brave_ like everyone told her she was.

"Now now." McCree said gently. "Don't you hide from me. You're capable Angela. We'll get through this yet. You have to."

Angela rested her hands on her knees, and consciously fought against the urge to rub away wet tears or pat at her cold cheeks.

" _Don't hide from me." he says... Even like this McCree wants to see me... to comfort me..._

Angela wanted to take the kind cowboy's words at face value, but even in this desperate state she was skeptical.

 _His fate is bound to mine now._ She realized. _Morrison said that this was a 'trial-by-fire' for him too. Said he was an administrator or something? What does that even mean..._

Angela pondered at the cowboy's intentions. Was he being sincere? Or was he trying to get her up and back to training? It was his career on the line after all.

Angela extended one of her hands and stuck a finger under McCree's stubbled chin. Slowly, she pushed his head up so his wide brimmed hat couldn't hide his eyes from her.

"You're plain worded." Angela said, peering into his deep brown eyes. "But you're very good at talking from the heart. That, or you're an excellent liar."

McCree reached out his own hand, and took hers in his. "You don't need to be a talking dictionary to help a friend. Simple men speak from the heart. Less clutter in our heads."

Angela felt a ghost of a smirk play over her lips. "Did you just call me a talking dictionary?"

"Yup." McCree replied with a small grin. He released her hand and stood up, taking care not to accidentally step on her again. With an extended arm, he got her back up, and gave her a moment to collect herself.

Angela brushed her hair with her fingers, and rubbed at the corners of her eyes. A quick check from her pocket mirror confirmed that her makeup had run and smeared all over her face. Black tears streaked down from her eyes and across her cheeks. Lipstick and blush had turned into muddy brown puddles as they mixed with tears and eyeliner. Angela borrowed a handkerchief from McCree, and rubbed off all the makeup, abandoning any efforts to salvage her formerly stylish look.

"Alright." Angela said, handing the dirty handkerchief back. "I'm ready to finish."

"You sure?" McCree asked skeptically. "We could just do something else for day one of your training. I think maybe starting with weaponry on day one was a bit much. We coul-"

Angela cut him off as he tried to make excuses for her. "Jesse we have six days. I'm ready. Let's start again."

McCree nodded at her and picked up the gun that they had been using before. He took the magazine out of the gun, and ejected the chambered bullet by hand. "Let's try something else this time. I'm gonna teach you a proper shooting stance, but with an empty gun. No bullets, no pressure."

Angela nodded at him and tried to remember where her lesson had been cut off. "But the gun is still loaded, right?

"Yeah!" McCree said happily. "The gun is _always_ loaded."

Angela smiled back and walked closer to the gunslinging cowboy. "Just stand in front of me like this." He said.

Angela stood in front of him, and gasped as he hugged her from behind.

"Give me your arms." He whispered into her ear.

Angela spread her shoulders and let McCree wrap his muscular arms around her own. He lifted them up in front of her, and stuck the practice gun in her hands.

"Square your shoulders a bit. Now hold your arms out straight. Ninety-degree angle. You can bend the other one a bit if you want... but watch the thumb..."

McCree whispered comments into Angela's ears as she all but melted into his embrace. It wasn't one of the giant bear hugs that Reinhardtgave, but it was a physical comfort in her time of need.

 _He's so muscular..._ Angela thought as her eyes drooped. _So, strong. So, kind. So... mysterious..._

She followed along with McCree's instructions, but also pressed her back into his chest, feeling his firm abdomen along the small of her back. Her shoulders rested against his warm collarbone, and occasionally some of his chin hair would tickle her cheek as he whispered into her ear.

 _He's so physical. So confident. He smells like sandalwood, whiskey, and cigar smoke. So bad... so good._

Angela felt her body grow warm as their embrace deepened. "Push your back out a bit. You gotta hunch over a little to manage the recoil..." he whispered with a deep breath. Angela pushed her backside against him, and tried to guess if it was his belt buckle, or arousal pressing back up against her.

 _He's smelling me..._ She realized as McCree breathed through his nose. _Like a shark smelling blood. Like a wolf who smells prey..._

Angela shuddered as she tried to focus on her training. She wanted this. She wanted to have McCree on her, feeding on her body like a predator licking up meat. She wanted to make Jack Morrison jealous, and she wanted to feel warm and strong and sexual again.

 _I can't._ Angela reminded herself. _I don't know him. I don't know what he's like. Not yet. Not now._

Angela breathed in relief as McCree stepped away from her moments later. His sandalwood cigar smoke musk clung to her turtleneck sweater like a reminder of what could have been.

"Alright, I'm going to load you up." McCree continued. "Just hold that position, and shoot when I tell you to..."

* * *

 **" _Anyone who thinks my story is anywhere near over is sadly mistaken."_ -Donald J. Trump** _  
_


	17. Chapter 17: Merciful

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the ninth Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

 **Chapter 17: Merciful  
**

"So what exactly is a _'next of kin'_ now?" McCree asked between a sip of coffee.

"It's for when I die." Angela replied sleepily. "If I were to drop dead right now, who would you contact to tell them the bad news?"

McCree winced in regret. Filling out Angela's enlistment paperwork required him to dig into her past. At this early morning hour, it was making them both a little uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose I'll let you fill that one out." McCree replied quietly. "I'm sure that's a private and personal thing."

He moved to hand Angela the paper, but she waved it away with another yawn. "It's no use Jesse, just leave it blank. I won't be dying anytime soon, you said it yourself."

"You sure? Might want to fill it out just in case. I just wanna make sure your family is looked after."

"Yes, I'm sure Jesse. I don't have any kin. There isn't anyone to contact."

McCree felt like pounding his sleepy head into his new Blackwood desk. Why did he always end up asking such sensitive questions?

"Sorry to pry Angela. I'll blank it."

McCree penned a single line through the document and shuffled it into the bottom of the completed paperwork stack.

 _No family._ He thought. _I always assumed Dr. Zee had some parents. A brother or a sister at least… Instead, she's just like me. No kin. No family. No one to run back home too…_

McCree absentmindedly thought about Dr. Ziegler's home life as he picked another document from the _'to be completed'_ stack.

"Well, at least this is fun." He muttered as he skimmed the paper. "You'll get to pick your own codename. Any ideas?"

McCree watched as Angela sunk her back into his plushy red office chair. She rolled her blue eyes in thought and hummed. "Hmm… I don't know… what do you _use_ codenames for? Is it like a call sign over the radio, or like a _codename_ code name?"

"It's like a radio or contact name." McCree explained with a rub of his chin. "No one within the organization will actually use it day to day."

Angela yawned again and rolled her eyes. "What's your code name Jesse?"

"McCree." McCree answered with a smirk.

"You use your _real_ name as your _code_ name? Isn't your code name supposed to be… you know… a _code?_ "

"Maybe." McCree replied mysteriously. "I can't say just yet, might blow my cover. Ask me again some other time."

Angela raised her eyebrows at him and smiled sarcastically. "I will. Soon as this paperwork is over you won't have to worry about your _'Cover'_."

McCree chuckled at the thought. Angela Ziegler digging into his records to find the meaning behind his mundane codename.

 _Wouldn't be the first time either._ He remembered. _Angela dug into my medical records, she might dig into some of the other stuff once she gets clearance…_

 _Ding!_

McCree's thoughts were interrupted as a message came in on his new desktop computer.

* * *

 **FROM** : Torb-Lindholm

 **TO** : Jess-McCree

 **SUBJECT** : Bing down the gril

Mr. mcree pleece bRing d0wn ANGela I finishede the suit.. Tellep her to dresc sirty we might mako messi. 32'

Htanks,

Ttorbiorn

* * *

McCree sighed as he tried to decipher Torbjörn's message. He knew that Torbjörn was trying his best, but sometimes it was impossible to understand what the blacksmith was trying to type into his messenger.

"Hey Angela, you wanna help me out here? I can't read Torbjörno-glyphics."

Angela walked around the desk and read the message over his shoulder. "The suit is ready. He wants us to come down to test it out. And… he wants me to wear a dress shirt?"

The pair furrowed their eyebrows in thought as they tried to guess the meaning of Torbjörn's message.

"It is kind of like hieroglyphics..." Angela whispered. "Why does he type so poorly?"

"It's his hands. He's only got one good arm obviously. Other than that, his fingers are stubby. Ever look at em?"

Angela's cheeks turned a little red. She clearly hadn't realized that Torbjörn's disability was the cause of his poor messaging skills.

"I've never really thought about him only having one hand." She muttered in response. "He's just so _nimble_ and _handy_ with everything else. Typing didn't really seem like something he would have trouble with…"

McCree nodded in agreement. "He's pretty _handy_ for a man with one _hand_."

Angela lightly punched him on the shoulder and shook her head. "That isn't what I meant Jesse."

McCree brushed her off and reached under his desk. "Lindholm doesn't want you to wear a dress shirt, he wants me to remind you not to wear your Sunday's best."

McCree eyed over Angela and her stylish grabs. Light blue skinny jeans, grey boots, a grey sweater, and a lacy white scarf. Black pearl earrings, and silver bracelets over each wrist. Expertly fitted and thought out. Fashionable, but simple. Perfect for Angela's usual casual attractiveness, but completely improper for her final day of training in Torbjörn's forge.

"I got you a little something. Should serve you well…" He handed Angela a bag from under his desk and watched as she meekly shuffled through it.

"Combat boots. Camouflaged army slacks. Tank top. Camo jacket…" Angela listed off her new clothes as she worked her way down the bag.

 _My first pay check spent on women's clothing._ McCree observed. _Is this what it's like to be a free man? To buy things for friends? Chat over bits of paperwork and joke about emails?_

McCree didn't know if he loved his new normal life, or if he hated it. Freedom was nice, but so was being able to send problems up the chain of command. To just do what he was told and let the higher ups sort out the problems.

"You know Jesse, I didn't really think about what I was going to wear under my suit. These will do well I think." Angela fingered off some tags and plastic wrap. Then she pointed at the door.

"Out Jesse."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to change before we head down. I'll not strip down in the forge. Could get tetanus with all that scrap metal laying around."

McCree raised an eyebrow at her, but he got up from his desk, and made for the exit. "Let me know if you need any help or anything."

"Help?" Angela giggled. "There might be a use for you yet."

McCree stopped in his tracks and turned to watch. Angela strolled over to him, stopping half a foot before him, close enough to smell her vanilla perfume. Wordlessly she turned around so her back faced him. She removed her scarf, and peeled away her grey sweater, leaving only a bra strap covering her bare back.

McCree tried to avert his eyes, but it was no use. His primal hunger made him look. Made him drink up the sheet of healthy pale skin before him.

"Unhook me." Angela whispered. "And don't ogle for too long Jesse."

McCree snapped out of his trance and leaned in to unhook Angela's bra. He was so close to her. Close enough to see her soft shoulders and skinny arms. Close enough to smell the tantalizingly erotic smell of vanilla that always wafted off her mane of blonde hair. Close enough to brush his hands against her smooth soft back as he worked away at her bra strap.

 _Clink!_

The steel bra clutch popped away. Angela's undergarment slipped off and fell to the floor. McCree turned his head away as she covered herself with crossed arms.

"Thanks Jesse." Angela whispered with another yawn. "Go on now, I'll come get you before we head down."

McCree turned on his heel and high tailed for the door. He went through it, slyly turning his head to cop a peek at Angela. She caught his eye though, and with a wink and wave turned him away.

McCree shut the door and suddenly felt very uncomfortable. His pants were too tight, and his face was hot with embarrassment and excitement. He walked off and pulled a cigar out of his vest pocket. Taking a step outside, he lit it up and paced in the chilly winter air.

 _Angela…_ McCree thought. _She's been so… flirty recently. What can I do about it? Can I have her? Would she have me?_

McCree paced and huffed on his cigar. Angela's topless body filled his mind with a deep sated lust. A red-hot fire that burned in his heart and groin. It made him want to grab at her. To run his hands over her smooth skin and soft flesh.

 _If I had just reached around… put a hand on her shoulder and just made my way down…_

McCree huffed at his cigar in an attempt to sate his appetite. The tobacco calmed his nerves and slowed his pounding heart, but it did nothing to curb his fierce hunger for sex.

Angela had become increasingly bold over the course of her training. It started with joking and jabbing. McCree taunting Angela over her vegan diet and her baby like aversion to violence. Angela jabbing right back with her sophisticated vocabulary and razor sharp wit. He would steal her red flats when she took them off for their daily lunch break. She would grab his hat and run off barefooted in return.

Then they started getting comfortable with each other. Angela would rest her hands on his shoulders and squeeze them after a long day of training. McCree would help clasp Angela into her suit, brushing blonde hair out of her face, copping feels of her soft calves and thighs as he helped her with her leg bracers. McCree would ask Angela questions to which he already knew the answer. He just loved hearing her accented voice explaining things.

 _She likes me._ McCree realized. _And I like her._

He'd known it for some time now, but he still couldn't bring himself to accept it. What could this smooth, beautiful, intelligent blonde doctor possibly see within him? His back was scarred and cut. Hers was smooth and soft. He was uncultured and unintelligent. She was sophisticated and brilliant. His hair was dirty and unkempt. Her blonde locks were as soft as silk, scented like something new and delicious every day.

Angela was just different from him. In every single way he could think of. He wanted her sexually, and he sensed the same hunger in her from time to time. But there was something else to it. Something else he wanted from her.

"Jesse!" The woman in question called. "I'm ready!"

McCree snuffed out his cigar and stepped back into his office building. He turned down the hallway to his office, mentally fortifying himself with every step. Stopping before the door, he straightened his hat and took a deep breath.

 _Back to business._ He reminded himself. _We've got work to do. Can't flirt or screw just yet. The mission is tomorrow._

McCree opened the door to his office and almost lost his mind. Angela was lacing up her new combat boots, leaning over from a perch atop his new Blackwood desk. She was wearing her new tank top, with the neckline pulled all the way down. From this angle her breasts were almost fully exposed.

"Jesse there you are." Angela called nonchalantly. "Wasn't sure if could hear me calling you all the way out there."

McCree cleared his throat and tried to find words. His eyes were glued to Angela's bosom. "Heard you just fine Dr. Zee. Ready to go?"

"Just a moment." Angela replied. "Trying to lace these boots."

McCree swallowed his apprehension and decided to flirt. "Want some help?"

Angela lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. "You've been very _helpful_ today Jesse. Sure I'm not wearing you out?"

"Never."

Angela released her grip on the boots and sat up straight from her perch on the desk. McCree drank in all the skin exposed by her tank top as he made his way over to her. Uncovered shoulders, long dainty arms, her wonderfully naked neckline. All so smooth and soft. Pale and unabashedly uncovered on this cold winter day.

McCree took a knee before her, and took one of her booted feet in his hands. He rested the boot against his chest, letting the rubber sole press up against his ribs. He laced the boots, and occasionally looked up to meet Angela's deep blue eyes.

"Jesse?"

"Yeah?'

"These clothes all fit very well you know."

"Glad to hear it."

"I'm thankful and everything, but I just wanted to ask… how did you know my measurements?"

"Your measurements?"

"How did you pick out the right sizes?" Angela elaborated. "These pants are a perfect fit. So is this… _top_ I'm wearing. And my boots. Just perfect all of it, but how did you know what size to buy for me?"

McCree felt his face heat up. Torbjörn had taken Angela's measurements as he made final adjustments to the Valkyrie suit. McCree had taken a browse of those measurements, and had kept a copy for himself.

 _Wouldn't be wise to let her onto that._ McCree realized. _She might be a tiny bit bothered by me having her waist, hip, and bra size on file…_

"I'm just _very_ observant." McCree finally said with a smirk.

"Hmm…" Angela hummed with a bite of her lip. "You must have been _observing_ me a lot recently to get the whole outfit down."

"Got a problem with that?"

"No." Angela yawned after a moment. "I've observed you pretty extensively too…"

McCree finished lacing Angela's boots and thought back to their first meeting. During that first medical checkup three months ago, Angela had tested him very… _comprehensively_. Between his STD testing, his full body checkup, and his nerve response examination, she had seen all there was to see of him.

"Jesse…" Angela asked, hopping off the desk. "Did you spend your own money on these?"

"Yeah, but don't you worry about that. I want you comfortable and well equipped for tomorrow. Torbjörn makes a mean suit of armor, but he's no tailor."

"Alright. I won't harp on you for spending too much on me. Just want you to know that I'll be looking to return the favor."

McCree started to grumble about her trying to pay him back, but Angela cut him off with a stern shake of her head.

"I won't take no for an answer." She commanded. "Come on now, Torbjörn is waiting, and I want to get in the air."

* * *

"So Torbjörn you're sure about this right?" McCree asked hesitantly.

Angela was wearing her Valkyrie suit, holding onto a tall ladder in the deeper part of the forge.

"I'm sure, I'm sure…" Torbjörn muttered quietly. "I have full confidence in my work as usual. Angela on the other hand… well, that's a different story."

Angela looked terrified up on the ladder. She was clinging onto the rungs halfway up, refusing to go any higher.

"Torbjörn are you sure this is the only way?" She called down for the fifth time. "Surely there's some other way to test this out? Preferably without me inside the suit?"

"This is the only way!" Torbjörn shouted back up. "The suit relies on a strong central weight. You made the design, you know just as well as I do that thi-"

"Fine!" She interrupted angrily. "Just give me a moment!"

McCree understood Angela's frustration. She knew how the suit worked, and she also knew that this was a necessary step in learning how to fly. She just couldn't work up the willpower to climb all the way up the tall ladder and jump down for the first time.

"It's alright Angela, take your time." McCree called up. "If it helps, I'll stand under the ladder."

"Stand under the ladder?" Angela called back down.

"Yeah, I'll catch you if it doesn't work or something."

"Fine…" Angela grumbled in defeat. "Stand close and I'll jump down."

Angela started climbing up the ladder, slowly but surely, one rung at a time. McCree moved to the base of the ladder, and opened his arms wide in a showy catching position. Soon, Angela made it to the top.

"Torbjörn!" Angela called frantically. "I'm ready what do I do!"

"Just jump!" Torbjörn replied unhelpfully. "The wings should do the rest. I'll wait by the workbench, try to glide over to me!"

"Okay!" Angela shouted back down. "McCree get ready! If this doesn't work, and you don't catch me…"

McCree gave Angela a thumb up and spread his arms wide. "Don't worry about it Dr. Zee. I got you."

"Well…" Torbjörn started. "Angela weighs fifty-five kilograms, and from that height she would come down with a force of twenty-two kilonewtons. So, Mr. McCree wouldn't be able to do much catching anyway, except maybe break his arms…"

McCree pointed at Torbjörn and narrowed his eyes. "Not helping Lindholm!"

Torbjörn shrugged his shoulders dismissively and waddled back to his workbench, grumbling all the way. "Just a simple fact of physics you know… no need to get all worked up…"

Angela was now leaning off the ladder, trying to work up the courage to pounce off the final rung into the empty air before her.

"Come on Angela!" McCree coaxed. "You'll be a natural at this! I know it! Just jump!"

"McCree!" Angela shouted back down. "Count for me. I'll jump on three!"

He nodded up at her and started counting down. "One… Two… Three… Jump!"

Angela hesitated for a moment, but her legs kicked off and she was in the air. She fell for a heart wrenching moment, but a second later, two giant golden wings extended out of the back of her suit. Her fall was slowed. Soon, it was so slow that it seemed like she was suspended in the air. Not falling at all, merely surfing along the air currents, like a fish gliding through water.

"Come fly over to me Angela!" Torbjörn shouted from afar. "Twist your legs! Bend your arms! It's all about the airflow!"

Angela herself seemed to be terrified and excited at the same time. A huge smile played over her lips, but her eyes were wide with fear. Her body was stiff, and she was practically in the fetal position floating twenty feet over McCree's head.

"Stop hugging yourself and spread those arms!" McCree shouted up. "Come on now Angela you can do it!"

Angela unlocked her folded legs and spread her arms a bit. The wings shook, and she veered off to the side rapidly.

"Balance Angela!" Torbjörn called. "Never one limb at a time! Extend both your limbs at once or not at all! You must keep your center of gravity centered! Move your left arm out a bit! Now the right leg! Now stop hunching over…"

Torbjörn tried to boss around Angela from across the cavernous room, but it was no use. Angela was spinning down fast, about to crash into one of Torbjörn's giant material boxes.

"Jessseeeee!" She called. "Catch meeee!"

McCree ran, jumping over piles of scrap, and darting past rows of tools and material boxes. He could see Angela spinning down to earth through the corner of his eye, and he desperately tried to get to the impact zone before her.

His efforts were in vain unfortunately, as Angela slammed into a red material box a second before he arrived on the scene.

"Angela!" McCree called. "You alright?!"

Angela blinked a couple times and huffed. "I think so. Help me up."

McCree wrapped an arm around her and got her up. Angela winced in pain and leaned against his shoulder.

"Think I broke something." She said between shallow breaths. "My ankle. It's broken. Or sprained or something, I can't tell."

McCree felt bad for not catching her, but he was also impressed by Angela's calmness. "Reduced to tears over a stubbed toe, but calm and collected with a busted leg hmm?" McCree joked gently.

"That was different!" She gasped. "Now hush and get me to the workbench. I need the Caduceus."

McCree tried to pick her up, but the Valkyrie suit made things difficult. The outfit was bulky in places, and the golden wings that had carried Angela so majestically were now bent and crumpled over her back. Eventually McCree gave up on gracefully cradling Angela to the workbench. Instead he slung her over his shoulder unceremoniously.

"Jesse!" Angela gasped as he heaved her up. "Not like this! Carry me like a lady!"

Angela lightly punched him in protest as he gingerly navigated Torbjörn's messy workshop. "For future reference…" She joked painfully. "You shouldn't carry a woman like a sack of flour."

"Expecting me to carry you around often Doc?" McCree shot back.

"Wouldn't mind it now that you mention it." Angela responded sarcastically. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind giving me rides."

"Depends on the kind of riding." McCree huffed as he maneuvered around a rack of tools.

Angela started to laugh, but it turned into painful panting when McCree accidentally bumped her bad leg against a scrap pile. He apologized, and got Angela to the workbench where Torbjörn was already prepping the Caduceus.

"Angela!" Torbjörn exclaimed, "I'm so sorry my dear. I could have made a rigging! I could have made a safety harness! I'm so sorry!"

McCree was surprised by how worked up the little blacksmith was. His face was all red, and his eyes were wet with tears.

"Don't worry Lindholm, Angela isn't crippled or anything." McCree reassured him. "She just needs a hit of that healing stream or whatever."

Torbjörn was inconsolable however, so McCree let Angela reassure him herself. "Don't worry about it Torbjörn it isn't your fault." Angela said, trying to sound reassuring under gritted teeth. "The suit protected me just fine! Who knows how I badly I might have been hurt if your bracers hadn't protected me! Don't you say that Torbjörn, don't you worry…"

Angela did her best to calm the now sobbing Swede from her position on McCree's shoulder. McCree himself cleared some room on the workbench with his free hand. Eventually, he was able to set Angela down, and pick up the Caduceus.

"Alright!" McCree yelled over Torbjörn's sobbing. "How do I use this thing Angela?"

Angela clenched her jaw breathed through her nose. Undoubtedly it was difficult for her to nanny a crying blacksmith, teach medicine to a cowboy, and manage her painful injury. "The trigger. Point it at my ankle and shoot."

So McCree did just that. The Caduceus jolted and shot a golden stream into Angela's foot. Surprisingly, Angela started laughing, but also gasping in pain.

"Wrong foot!" Angela managed to get out between bouts of laughter.

McCree sheepishly let off the trigger and switched to the opposite foot. Angela stopped laughing, and started shuddering. She closed her eyes, and started squirming around on the workbench. A few moments passed, and Angela slowly stopped shuddering and shaking. McCree let off the trigger, and tried to gauge her as she lay completely still on the table.

"Angela? You alright?" McCree called with a gentle nudge.

"Angela!" Torbjörn called in despair, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean for it to end this way…"

 _What's up with him?_ McCree thought, eyeing Torbjörn in wonder. _I've never seen him this worked up… about anything… ever…_

McCree shrugged off Torbjörn's despair and went to check Angela's vitals. He took off his hat and stuck his ear to her nose. She was breathing, and a quick finger to the neck confirmed that her pulse was present and strong. He gently shook her shoulder to make her responsive again.

"McCree?" Angela asked with a yawn. "Oh… and Torbjörn too! Where am I?"

"The forge." McCree informed her. "You just had a little fall. Busted your foot. Ring a bell?"

"Oh… that's right…" Angela said drowsily. "The healing stream… it felt good… made me sleepy…"

McCree couldn't help but laugh as Torbjörn started jumping for joy. "She lives! She lives!" He called. "Angela's Alright! She's fine! We did it!"

Angela started laughing too, and soon all three were chuckling at the evaporation of Torbjörn's misery. They laughed and laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation, and the strange way by which the problem was solved.

Eventually the humor burned off, and Angela insisted on climbing the ladder again, this time with her staff in hand.

"Angela no!" Torbjörn insisted. "You can't! What if you get hurt again! What if you fall again! I'd never forgive myself! Please don't Ang-"

Angela shushed Torbjörn with a finger to her lips. "Have mercy Torbjörn, your nagging bothers me."

"Have mercy!" Torbjörn exclaimed. "You must wait! Let me make a safety line! Or a ceiling harness! It'll take just a moment I swear!"

"Take it easy Lindholm." McCree urged their worried friend. "Angela won't have a safety harness on the mission tomorrow. She needs to learn to fly tonight. _Without_ anything holding her."

"It's true Torbjörn…" Angela agreed. "I appreciate your assistance though."

"Assistance?" Torbjörn asked.

"Yes, assistance." Angela grinned. "You just helped me decide on my code name. _'Mercy'_."

* * *

 **Authors Note** : Alright. I know I said that things will be moving fast now, but I just felt like making a fun lighthearted chapter. The rest of Act II is more serious in nature, so I realized that this was the best point in the plot to finally have Mercy and McCree fall in love. (Only took 42000 words, 122 pages, and 17 chapters...) Also, this chapter had a decent amount of Torbjörn in it. This is basically his goodbye chapter. You won't see him again until Act III, so I wanted to give him a happy and funny goodbye.

In the next chapter, I hope to introduce Ana Amari as a character. No origin story would be complete without the coolest of the Big Three, Ana! (I also hope to explain some of Jack Morrison's Negotiation chapter outburst a little more as well.) I hope to have that next chapter out sometime this week! Stay tuned!

 **Tone** : I know this is a romance story, so I wanted to ask you guys about how you all feel about the tone of my story so far. My main concern is that the story is too dark and serious. When you clicked on this story, and started reading it, were you expecting cute flirty chapters like this one, or more serious action adventure mystery stuff with some romance thrown in? Just wondering how you guys like it so far in regards to the tone. (Not the content.)

For example, in this chapter I had McCree flirt with Angela when she broke her ankle. Looking back on it, I feel like I've been hurting Angela (physically and emotionally) a bit too much over the past few chapters. I feel like it's kind of mean for me to hurt her just for the sake of advancing the plot and giving McCree chances to court her.

Do you guys agree with that assessment? I've been trying to transform Angela as a character from a naive teenage doctor into a battle hardened medic with a heart. The only way I know how to write that, is by having her get hurt repeatedly, but having her gain strength through those bad experiences. Please let me know what you think, I love hearing form you all.

* * *

 _ **"I don't want my life to imitate art, I want my life to be art."** _**-Carrie Fisher _  
_**


	18. Chapter 18: Shanty

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the tenth Angela Z. (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

 **General Knowledge: In this chapter I reference a 'bridge' often. This bridge is not a bridge over a river or something, it's the command center of the ship from where the Captain steers the ship. The bridge of a ship is where the captain, navigator, helmsman, etc. operate the ship from. Just FYI, I know some of you may not be familiar with ships, or English might not be your first language.**

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Shanty  
**

Angela tried to calm her nerves. She was on a giant hovership, bobbing and jumping over Mediterranean waves. Today was the day. Her very first mission as an Overwatch designated battle medic.

 _What have I gotten myself into?_ Angela asked herself for the hundredth time that morning _. No security briefing, no breakfast, and no one to talk to…_

Angela was alone on the bridge of the Captain Amari's Overwatch Rapid Deployment Hovership. The Captain herself was down on the Command deck, getting the rest of the team prepped and briefed before the mission. Gabriel Reyes, Strike Commander Jack Morrison, Jesse McCree, and the Captain's Egyptian Grenadier squadron were along for the ride too.

" _All down to the main Command Deck for mission briefing_." Amari's voice said over the hovership's intercom.

Angela's head drooped as the electronically commanded bridge hummed and beeped emptily. She wanted to be down on the Command deck with everyone else.

 _Jack Morrison._ Angela reflected. _He's out to get me. What did I do to get on his bad side? Advocate for myself? Did I step on his toes somewhere along the line? Wound his honor, or dirty his reputation by getting myself Agent status?_

Angela thought about the Strike Commander angrily. Her empty stomach, nervous apprehension, and loneliness left her in an overall bad mood.

Half an hour passed before Captain Amari returned to the bridge, flanked by two of her Grenadiers. Angela eyed the Egyptian trio and recalled that the two soldiers were the Bey brothers.

"Murad! Ibrahim!" Amari barked at the men. "Secure the bridge! Made so no one leaves or enters without my express permission!"

The two men saluted her and exited the bridge, undoubtedly glad to be free of the bossy Captain. Angela sat in silence as Captain Amari pulled up a holographic map of the Mediterranean Sea, plotting a course with her finger.

"So Angela…" The Captain greeted informally. "I hear you're kind of a big deal now. Why weren't you at the briefing? Playing hooky?"

Angela cleared her throat and tried to sound like a _'big deal'_ over the humming and beeping of the navigation computers. "The Strike Commander didn't want me at the briefing. He said I shouldn't be allowed access to any _mission sensitive_ data until I undergo Counter Interrogation Training."

The Captain raised her dark eyebrows and rolled her eyes into the holomap. "Sounds like you and Jack have a little feud going on. Care to let me in on the gossip?"

Angela tried her best to explain what had happened at Torbjörn's Forge a whole week ago. She knew that the Strike Commander wouldn't appreciate her spreading the story, but she trusted Ana.

"Well, well, well, Angela." Amari said, flipping off the holomap. "I must admit that I never saw this coming from you. I guess I'll have to find a new babysitter."

"A babysitter?" Angela asked quizzically.

"Yes a babysitter." Amari answered unhelpfully. The Captain strolled over to her big red Captain's chair and started taking off her blue Captain's jacket and beret. Angela couldn't help but stare as the beautiful brown woman undressed.

Under her jacket, Amari wore only a black tank top. Angela could tell that there wasn't anything else underneath, as the Captain's ample bosom made a very clear outline against the thin cloth. Paired with strong muscular arms, and a slightly exposed abdomen, Captain Amari made Angela feel hot and bothered.

"Come on now Angela." The Captain said slyly. "I didn't order those buffoons to guard the door just so we could be all dressed up and formal. Get up. Stretch your legs. Take off that jacket, it's going to get hot in here."

Angela looked down to her own apparel. She was wearing the military clothes McCree had gotten for her. Combat boots, grey camouflaged army slacks, a tank top, and a camo jacket to cover herself up.

 _Might as well take off the jacket_ … Angela thought. _It's only me and the Captain here on the bridge. Just girl time… and It is getting kind of hot in here now that she mentions it…_

Angela stood and peeled off the camo jacket, blushing as the Captain failed to avert her eyes. She ate her up as the jacket came off, hungrily appraising her in a minx like way.

"So what were we talking about?" Amari asked, crossing her legs. "Babysitting? Yes, that's right. Babysitting."

Angela sat back down as Amari started speaking about her daughter. "My daughter, Fareeha. I decided I'm going to stop taking her on missions with me. So, I needed a babysitter back on base. I remembered that you lived just a few doors down, so I was thinking about ordering you to babysit my little brat."

Angela tried to follow the Captain's words, but couldn't understand the accented woman over the humming and buzzing of the ship.

"Why did you want me to babysit?" Angela asked.

"You're a pretty blonde. A good role model. You have the right _look_ about you." The Captain explained.

Angela tried to understand the merits of her blondeness and attractiveness in regards to babysitting. She couldn't piece anything together though, and she wondered how many of the Captain's words she had lost under buzzing, beeping, and humming of the noisy hovership.

"I'm not sure I understand." Angela said quietly.

Amari rolled her eyes at her. It was undoubtedly impossible to understand her quiet voice under all the noise.

"Computer!" Amari shouted. "Activate noise cancelling protocols!"

Angela's eyes widened as a modulated ringing sound suddenly played through the intercom. The ringing faded away gradually, and soon the bridge was nice and quiet.

"That's a nice feature." Amari commented. "Shoots out sound waves to nullify the engine noise. These hoverships… So damned loud."

Angela started to say something, but Amari spoke over her. "So like I was saying, you're a good role model for my Fareeha. You're a _girly_ girl. You wear makeup, and you flirt with boys _I assume_. You're a brilliant doctor, and a world class scientist. Just the kind of person I want my girl looking up to."

Angela blushed as Amari complimented her. She loved the idea of the beautiful and dangerous Captain admiring her.

"My Fareeha…" Ana said wearily. "I see too much of myself in her. She's too… roguish. Too headstrong. She loves boxing instead of flowers. She wants to learn judo instead of dancing…"

Angela wondered why the Captain was revealing all this to her. She suspected that there was a favor involved.

"About two weeks ago I went on a mission. I recall you were there when I was deploying, yes?"

Angela nodded as the Captain started a story.

"Yes, well I took Fareeha on my ship with me as usual. I never let her go into the field with me of course, but I prefer to keep her close by. Anyway, when I came back to my ship the night after the mission, I found my little girl in the armory playing with one of my rifles. I grabbed it up of course, and I gave her a good scolding like any responsible parent. But between sobs she told me that she just wanted to learn more about the gun. How to shoot it. Clean it. Load it up, and aim it. She just wanted to learn how to become more like me."

The Captain sighed deeply, and got out of her chair. She strolled over to a porthole window and stared out into the sea. "I never wanted to be a soldier. I was made a killer out of necessity." Amari turned and pointed to Angela. "Come with me dear. I want to show you something."

Angela stood and followed Amari to the front of the bridge. Here, at the very front of the hovership, was a large window that allowed the Captain to survey the sea.

"Do you know where we are Angela?" The Captain asked.

"I'm not sure." Angela admitted.

"Take a guess." Amari commanded her, as she went to fetch a telescope.

"If I had to guess, I'd assume we are somewhere in the Mediterranean. It's early morning, and the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. We are going towards the sun, so I'm sure we're heading east. That course takes us deeper into the Mediterranean, as opposed to a Western course which would take us into the Atlantic."

"Very impressive Angela." Amari complimented, returning with the telescope. "I needed you to figure that out on your own. Mr. Jack Morrison has forbidden me from letting you onto any _'Mission Sensitive'_ details."

Angela narrowed her eyes in anger. Jack Morrison was getting on her nerves.

"Don't you worry about him." The Captain reassured her. "I'll explain all that in a moment. For now, take a look through these."

Captain Amari handed Angela her telescope and pointed to some land formations in the distance. Angela looked through the scope and saw what appeared to be the mouth of a river.

"Now think." Amari hinted. "We are heading east into the Mediterranean. I'm from Egypt, and telling you a story about my past. Where do you think we're headed?"

Angela thought for a moment and decided. "The Suez Canal?"

"Brilliant Angela! You'd made a fine navigator if you weren't a Doctor!"

Angela smiled to herself as Ana continued her story. "We don't get credited like the Russians do, but Egypt held its own during the Omnic Crisis. The robots attacked Suez. They knew that if they took the city, and held the canal the human world would be split. Europe would've been cut from India when they needed the extra manpower. Indonesia wouldn't have gotten the arms they needed from the States. So on and so forth. The Egyptian people made tremendous sacrifices to hold this Canal. This is where I became a Captain."

"I was pressed into service when I was sixteen. They set me up in a mess hall in Giza, serving food to the soldiers. It was small stuff, but it was a start. By the time I turned eighteen, the war was in its darkest days. All the fighting age men had already been conscripted. Girls, women, even old retired ladies were now being forced into action, the last line of defense for the human race. They made me a sniper and put me on a boat. Had me shoot down drones and punch holes in Omnic landing craft. Salt water isn't exactly healthy for steel men you know."

Angela listened intently as Amari shared her life story. The canal was getting closer on the horizon, glowing like a sea of fire as the sun reflected off it.

"I fought and fought Angela. I shot thousands of those metal bastards. I lost many sisters in arms to the war. My mother too."

Angela muttered a word of apology as the Captain stopped speaking for a moment. She was trying to tell her story casually, but there was real emotion playing over her face.

"I joined Overwatch willingly, that's true. But I didn't become a soldier out of desire, the choice wasn't mine to make. Fareeha has a choice, and I'm afraid she's making the wrong one."

Angela nodded in understanding. _She's worried about her baby. She doesn't want this life for her. She wanted me to show her daughter how to be a successful woman without any army influences._

Angela understood what Amari was saying, and what she was suggesting. She didn't know how she felt about it though. She had seen Fareeha passing through the hallways every now and then, but she didn't personally know the girl.

"I would like to help you Captain Ana." Angela said. "But I'm not sure how I can. I just joined the Military branch of Overwatch. If your daughter sees me in my new suit, flying around, healing people… well I fear it would only strengthen her desire to become a soldier."

Ana nodded in agreement. "I know. You can't help me change her mind now. I'll need to find another. All the same though, let's make a trade."

Angela listened intently as the Captain made a proposal. "I'm a soldier Angela. Soldiers _fight_. Soldiers _die_. So, if I ever catch a bullet. If I ever fall in the heat of a battle, promise me that you'll look after my girl. Make her into something good. Not a _fighter_. Not a _killer_."

Angela took in the Captain's words surreally. _I barely know you Ana Amari!_ She wanted to say _. I said hello in the hallways a few times and you want me to adopt your daughter?_

Angela's disbelief must have been plain to see, as Amari read her apprehension before she said a word.

"I know this is all very fast for you. I'm just worried, emotional, and I'm probably not thinking straight. It's this canal. It's the fact that this mission is the first in a long time without Fareeha waiting by my side." The Captain admitted. "But I'll have you know I've extracted similar oaths from Jack, Reyes, and a few others I trust around here. This army… Overwatch. It's the only family I have now. And what good is a family if they don't look after one another?"

Angela wanted to agree. To tell Ana that she would look after her daughter. But something held her back. A gut feeling that told her to think before accepting such a sensitive task.

Amari sighed heavily at Angela's silence. She waited for a while, but then tried to sweeten the deal. "How about this. You promise me that you'll _guide_ Fareeha. You don't even have to take care of her! Just make sure that if something happens to me, you won't let Jack, or Reyes, or any other bloodthirsty man fashion her into my replacement. In exchange, I'll get that _Jackass Morrison_ off you back for this mission, and the rest. Deal?"

Angela smiled at _'Jackass Morrison'_ , and decided to take a leap of faith. "Fine. I accept."

* * *

"You kissed him!?" Angela asked in shocked surprise.

Ana laughed in confirmation. "I did!" She said, pouring Angela another cup of Captain's Rum from her stash. "And it worked too! He was so interested by my _forwardness_ that he called me up the very next day. Little did he know that I already had a daughter…"

Angela laughed at the thought. The brooding and imposing Gabriel Reyes being duped by Ana all those years ago. "At least Gabey boy knows how to kiss." Ana continued. "Jackass Morrison doesn't know a thing. He's far to _gentle_."

Angela giggled drunkenly at Amari's mean nicknames. " _Jackass Morrison_ does have a nice ass." She mentioned in drunken stupidity.

Ana laughed anyway and put a hand on Angela's shoulder. "He does! He does have a nice ass!"

They both laughed, joked, and talked as the sun set over the starboard side of the hovership. By Angela's guesswork navigation, she assumed that they were halfway down the west coast of Africa, about to pass Madagascar via the Mozambique Channel.

"So… how did Jack get all pissed off at you again?" Amari asked between a sip of rum.

"I tore up his papers." Angela reminded her. "Made him really mad with that move. He was all red-hot anger from then on."

Ana hummed and nodded her head. "That would do it. Jack loves his paperwork. He's very much a… _'do it by the book'_ kind of man. Breaking the rules, skipping the established chain of command, even stretching the rules a little _tiny_ bit sets him off."

Angela tried to look at things from Commander Morrison's perspective, but the buzz of alcohol made thinking hard.

"Basically…" Ana continued. "Reyes, and myself to a lesser extent, bend the rules to get the job done. Jack on the other hand, plays by the rules _every single time_. No matter the circumstances, the time, or the cost, Jack Morrison always plays by the rules."

Angela did a bad job at hiding her distain for the man. Her face soured up and her eyebrows crossed angrily.

"That attitude makes him an excellent administrator." Ana droned on. "But it also makes him a real pain in the ass at times. If I had to guess, bringing you into the military branch as a Senior Agent broke a _ton_ of rules. That's what made Jack mad at you."

Angela tried to understand, but the rum made her reckless. "How is any of this _my_ fault?" She demanded. " _Jack_ broke the rules by letting me on. _He_ broke them, not me!"

Ana nodded and stretched one of her muscular arms. "You're right about that. Unfortunately, there isn't anything you can do about it now. So just take it as a compliment and move on."

"Take it as a compliment?"

"Yeah, a compliment. _Jack_ _Morrison is a hard ass_. He always was, and he always will be. If your suit was great enough to make the _'incorruptible iron man'_ bend over backwards, you should be proud! Proud and happy!"

Ana lifted her cup of rum and toasted the air. Angela lifted her cup too, but Ana had already set hers down.

"Where is this suit of yours anyway?" The Captain asked.

"I'm not sure." Angela admitted, waving away Ana's rum bottle as she tried to top off her cup.

"I'm going to go call it up here if you don't mind. You've made me curious Angela. I want to see what all the fuss is about."

Angela allowed The Captain to call up her suit. One of the Grenediers was sent down to the cargo hold, and soon a giant sheet metal box was dropped off at the bridge.

"Torbjörn makes a mean suitcase." Ana observed. "I don't get anything this nice for my outfits…"

The Captain popped open the case and examined the disassembled Valkyrie suit. The suit was collapsed, with each part set aside in a labeled foam cutout. The Caduceus staff was hidden under the foam, laid diagonally along the width of the steel case.

"May I?" Amari asked.

"Of course." Angela insisted.

Amari pulled up the Valkyrie suit breastplate. The older woman rapped a knuckle against the molded breast supports and ran her other hand across her own bust.

"I'm sure you'd all love seeing me stuffed into this." She mentioned with a predatory glance at Angela's chest. "You'll be very popular with the boys now. _Certain girls too."_

Angela blushed as Amari flirted with her. She loved the idea helping the foxy Captain squeeze into her Valkyrie suit.

"Where's your gun Angela?" Amari asked, prodding about the foam. "I'm sure Lindholm wouldn't let you walk out of his forge unarmed…"

Angela cleared her throat and tried to explain the situation. "Torbjörn told me that this mission was _arsenal sensitive_. I'm not sure what that means, but he told me that I should present myself to the ship's armory before the mission."

Ana rolled her eyes and took a seat on the floor. Angela followed suit, leaning against a wall to steady her buzzing head.

"I know I'm not supposed to tell you any details about this mission, but I'm kind of fed up with bureaucracy right now." Captain Amari admitted. "So just listen, and don't tell anyone that you heard this stuff from me."

Angela nodded her head and squeaked out a "Yes, Captain."

"This is an undercover mission. Hence all the precaution and _'top secret'_ bullshit going on. Basically, we want to complete this mission without anyone knowing that Overwatch was involved. So naturally, we can't go into this mission without a cover story, and a convincingly primitive arsenal to accompany it."

Angela's buzzing mind tried to keep up, but Captain Amari's military jargon confused her.

"Think about it like this." Amari explained. "Today we aren't Overwatch. Instead, we're a small time, third world mercenary core. We use gunpowder weapons in the twenty first century. We use primitive technology and sloppy hired gun tactics. We don't wear uniforms, and we don't necessarily fight fair. So, even though Torbjörn would've _loved_ to hand you one of his electromagnetic beam pistols, he can't because _that_ would blow our cover."

"So in this mission we'll be using exclusively gunpowder weapons?" Angela clarified. "And that helps us maintain deniability in case we get caught?"

"We won't get caught I assure you." Amari said, stretching a thickly muscled leg.

"Then why are you bringing me along?" Angela wondered out loud. "If I'm flying around during the fighting, in my clearly high tech, _highly_ _funded_ Valkyrie suit, wouldn't that also blow our cover?"

Ana wagged a finger at her, a knowing smirk spread across her face. "Smart Angela. It _would_ blow our cover. That's why you'll be with me, out in the auxiliary group. Away from the thick of battle, but just close enough to help treat any on site injuries."

Angela felt like a load had been lifted off her shoulders. "So I won't be in the fighting?"

"I wouldn't go that far." Ana admitted. "It'll just be a different kind of fighting."

Angela wondered what the Captain meant by that. She wanted to ask, but she also figured that Amari had divulged too much information already.

" _Ana?"_ A stern voice barked over the intercom. _"Tell your men to let me in. It's time for our meeting."_

Captain Ana Amari sighed and gulped down her last mouthful of rum. "Just a moment Jack." She called into the intercom. "The bridge is… _occupied_ right now."

Angela tried to say calm as Ana cleaned up the bridge. The Valkyrie suit was stuffed back into its steel carrying case, and pushed into a corner. Angela was surprised when Ana started pushing her into the corner as well.

"Cover story." She explained. "You had too much to drink and you're recovering."

Ana stuck a finger in her rum bottle and smeared alcohol into Angela's hair. She quickly rolled up her Captains jacket and threw it onto the steel Valkyrie case.

"Down." She ordered with a point of her finger. "You've passed out, you little alcoholic you."

Angela nodded in understanding and curled up on the big steel case. Using the rolled-up Captain's jacket as a pillow, she closed her eyes almost all the way and tried to look sleepy. Ana ordered her men to open the bridge door, and Jack Morrison came in with Gabriel Reyes.

"Is that rum I smell?" Reyes rumbled in approval. "You're such a pirate Ana. What's next? A parrot? Or is an eye patch more your style?"

"An eye patch would pair nicely with my style." Ana admitted. "Want a cup Gabriel?"

Jack Morrison shook his head and tried to stop Ana. "Come on Amari, this isn't the time. You're in command of this ship. Start acting like it."

Ana disregarded Jack and poured Reyes a cup. She poured one for the Strike Commander too, but he set his down the second Ana handed it over.

"Take it easy Jack." Ana commented. "This is a big day for Gabey boy. Or have you forgotten?"

Angela could feel Reyes uncomfortableness even past her lidded eyes and buzzing head.

"No I haven't forgotten. We'll celebrate some other time. We've got things to do."

Reyes hummed a work of agreement, so Ana dropped the matter. One of the trio started walking over to her, so Angela did her best to look extra asleep.

"What've you done to her?" Morrison demanded, taking in a deep breath through his nose. "This girl smells like a liquor store, how much did she drink? And why isn't she down in the crew compartment anyway?"

"She drank just a _little_ too much." Ana informed Jack. "And she's with me. We're having a sleep over apparently. Our new battle medic can't hold her liquor well."

Reyes laughed in his deep throaty way. "Shouldn't have told him that Ana. Jack might just try and steal away your little confidante."

Jack strode away and grabbed up his cup of rum. "You know I wouldn't. She's pretty enough, but I hear she's already been taken. By one of your own Reyes."

"Yeah, I've heard the same." Reyes admitted. "Some she's been spending some time with my deputy. But I hear that was _your_ doing Jack."

"Yeah sure, I might have played a part in it. I made that deputy of yours train her. Got him outta my hair for a week, so that was nice."

The trio laughed, and Angela started wondering how much of this conversation was safe for her to hear. She trusted Ana obviously, as she was aware of her secret consciousness. Jack and Reyes however… how would they react if they knew she was listening in?

"So that McCree boy is grabbing up our young blonde?" Ana clarified. "What a shame. I would've taken him for myself if I was a decade younger."

"You would've had your way with both of em' a decade ago." Reyes pointed out. "You and Jack both had a bit too much fun in those early years."

Jack tried to defend his honor, as Reyes and Ana listed off stories of his sexual misadventures. They poked fun at him, but eventually Morrison steered the conversation back to the mission and out of his promiscuous past.

"So what's the plan." Morrison reiterated as Reyes and Ana laughed at his expense.

"Plan is to get you to stop changing the subject." Reyes said, chuckling with his gravelly voice.

"Really, come on now. The mission. The plan. We've got work to do people!"

"Fine, Jack I'll tell you the plan." Amari relented. "I'll take my boys some place on the outskirts of the AO. You and Reyes will head down to the hot zone and complete the mission objectives. In the meantime, I'll use my rifle to draw off some heat. Play cat and mouse with the enemy defenses so you boys have less to deal with."

"That should work fine." Reyes agreed lazily. "This shouldn't be a hard mission. Just gotta be careful with the cover, and the cleanup crew. How do you want to divide up the Agents?"

"You get the Cowboy obviously." Morrison told Reyes. "I'd like to take Reinhardt, Kossak, and Angela."

Angela almost leapt in surprise. She'd been waiting to see Reinhardt for weeks now.

"Not so fast Jack." Captain Ana said sternly. "I won't let you have Angela. You've done enough to that girl, I won't let you bully her for a moment longer."

"Bully her?" Morrison rebuked defensively. "I'm just doing what's right for the mission! She shouldn't even be here, but that damned cowboy insisted on making her an Agent…"

Morrison trailed off when Reyes didn't take his side for once. "My _'cowboy'_ made the right call as far as I'm concerned. That girl is smart. Crafty. Did you know she spied on McCree using medical records? That healing tech of hers is good stuff, and she's going to be a natural at spy craft I assure you."

Captain Amari perked up and joined the attack. "Besides, what was all that business about her not attending the Mission Briefing? How is this girl supposed to help us if she doesn't know what she's doing?"

"She hasn't had Counter Interrogation Training!" Morrison reminded the other two. "You know how sensitive some of that intel was! Without the proper training, she could divulge secrets! Let out sensitive information that could ruin us!"

Ana shook her head at Morrison and attacked again. "I bet you'd like to _train_ her yourself wouldn't you Jack? Tie her up? Gag her? _'Counter Interrogate'_ her with your whip and black leather?"

Morrison choked on his words as Angela tried her best not to move. "Maybe I would." Morrison deadpanned in a humor deflection. "Your little Dr. Blonde wouldn't mind I'm sure."

Angela tried her very best not to move, but her body was growing warm. Hearing Jack Morrison and Ana Amari argue over her sexual merits satisfied some of her darker desires.

"I wouldn't count on it." Ana replied. "She's coming with me in the auxiliary reserve, not with you."

"Fine. Angela goes with you. I'm keeping Reinhardt though."

Amari relented, and refilled both of her comrades cups. Everyone drank in silence for a while, until Reyes broke the silence with a question.

"How do you plan on keeping Reinhardt hidden?" He asked. "We aren't calling in _The Crusader_ unless we blow cover, a last resort you said. He has to be close, but also _hidden_ until we need him."

Strike Commander Morrison sighed and shook his head. "It was all in the briefing files, am I the only one who reads those things?"

"Just tell us Jack." Ana replied in annoyance. "I want this meeting to be over. You boys keep drinking up my liquor and staring at my boobs."

"Well you're the one who liquored us up." Morrison reminded her. "And that top of yours isn't exactly _conservative_ with the viewing angles… you'd be bound to know we'd get… _hungry_ … after a while."

"Well at least you two have good _taste_." Ana dismissed with a smirk. "Just tell me where you'll hide Reinhardt. At least that man knows how to treat a lady."

"Reinhardt will be hidden in a truck." Jack explained, setting down his empty cup. "I'll have him loaded on, hidden in a box or something. So, provided that the enemy doesn't X-ray his vehicle, he should get into the AO undetected, and hidden unless we need him."

"Sounds good to me." Reyes concluded. "I'm done drinking, so if we're finished here…"

"Yeah I think that about wraps it up." Morrison confirmed. "Sorry about the timing of this Reyes. We'll make it up to you somehow, you just wait and see."

Ana shared similar sentiments, and kissed the brooding man on the cheek. "An early present for you Reyes... hopefully this outfit didn't leave you expecting more…"

Reyes left the bridge, Morrison followed soon after. Captain Ana came to retrieve her coat, telling Angela she had to 'run some errands' and that she would return soon. Then, Angela was alone in the hovership bridge once more.

* * *

 ** _"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak."_ \- Sun Tzu, The Art of War. (5th century BC)**


	19. Chapter 19: Molossus

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

* * *

 **AN: This is the tenth Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

 **FYI: In this chapter I mention 'Blue Caps' often. 'Blue Cap' is slang for a United Nation's Peacekeeper. (They literally where blue helmets.)**

* * *

 **Chapter 19: Molossus  
**

McCree eyed the latrines with a sense of dread. He was deep in the rainforests of Mozambique, where the first leg of his mission was unfolding. The dense jungle was hot and sticky. Combined with the stench of decaying excrement, the stakeout location was almost inhospitable. _Almost_.

McCree put a hand behind his back and made a 'thumbs up' signal. Ana Amari was watching him through the scope of her rifle, hidden somewhere in the forest canopy above. Her bright red laser dot lit up the ground before him. It blinked once in confirmation and disappeared.

Gabriel Reyes appeared out of a fern bush moments later. He mirrored McCree's all clear signal, and began inching towards the latrine.

 _This is gonna be hell._ McCree realized as he closed the distance. He covered his nose and mouth with his red bandana, but it did little to mask the stench.

 _Rotting shit and stale piss._ McCree thought. _Just the perfect spot for an hour-long stakeout._

He reached the latrine and leaned against its rusted sheet metal wall. Reyes joined him a moment later, and handed him a radio ear piece. McCree took off his hat and nestled the antenna within the interior lining. Snaking the earpiece down the side of the hat, and under his ear, he kept the listening equipment as discreet as possible.

" _So. If you call we come in?"_ A heavily accented African man said through the ear piece. _"And if you don't call? What then?"_

A Russian man with a just as thick accent replied. _"You get paid either way. We call, you come. We don't call, you get paid the same."_

" _Alright. I like that deal."_

" _Just be warned. If we call, and you do not come… things will end badly."_

" _Of course. Of course!"_ The African Mercenary reassured. _"We are businessmen first and foremost! You can count on us!"_

" _Good. Let us negotiate the price then. I'm sure a businessman like yourself understands that I must haggle. My employer expects the best for the least."_

McCree and Reyes listened in as the Russian Overwatch negotiator sealed the deal. Codenamed Kossack, the Russian was one of Overwatch's most valuable human assets.

" _Russians don't officially participate in Overwatch."_ Morrison had said at that mornings mission briefing. _"By using Kossack as our negotiator, we throw suspicion away from our organization, and over to the men in the Kremlin. That being said, it's very, very, important that we don't allow Kossack's involvement in this affair go public. As many of you know, any Russian national found to be aiding Overwatch is guilty of treason within the Russian Federation. We like Kossack, and we want him to stick with us. So, it's crucial that his entry and extraction team protect him, from prying eyes."_

McCree thought back on the briefing angrily. Morrison had neglected to inform them that protecting Kossack involved breathing in latrine fumes for an hour. McCree pulled out his earpiece. The Russian was ferociously haggling with the African Mercenary, and the clash of accented dialect made his head hurt.

"McCree." Reyes whispered. "You got any smokes?"

McCree nodded and reached into his combat vest. Surely some tobacco smoke would help drown out the stench. A quick light later, both Blackwatch agents huffed away at cigars, letting the pungent smoke fumigate their sinuses to drown out the stench.

McCree thought about his commanding officer. _It's his birthday._ He remembered. _Reyes isn't a hard man to please, but even he must be disappointed by the lack of food and alcohol._

McCree had only found out about the birthday by poking around in his commander's top secret enlistment file. He wasn't sure that Reyes would approve of his digital espionage, so he had been apprehensive about getting him a birthday gift. Nonetheless, McCree had gotten one. It was tucked away in his vest pocket, ready to be handed over when the time was right.

 _Not now._ McCree reminded himself with a pat his vest pocket. _I wouldn't be able to say 'Happy Birthday' with a straight face while we're breathing in these fumes._

McCree and Reyes waited as the negotiations continued in the mercenary facility. The mercenaries were to act as the cleanup crew for the main mission. Once Overwatch completed its mission, the Mozambique ' _War Dog'_ mercenary core would ride in to take the blame and clean up any… _loose ends_.

" _McCree. Reyes."_ Ana Amari said through the radio _. "We have company. Small Jeep riding up to the compound from the North. Get ready, I'll let you know what I see."_

McCree and Reyes started readying themselves. Ana Amari continued narrating as the mystery Jeep closed in on the _War Dog_ compound. "It's a white Jeep. There's some kind of logo on the hood, but I can't tell what kind yet. One driver, and another in the passenger seat. Might be more people in the backseats though. It looks like a military type vehicle, not your average consumer model."

Ana hushed as Reyes made an observation. "White Jeep. Military model. You thinking what I'm thinking Ana?"

" _Our annoying friends at the United Nations coming to pay us a visit? I'm thinking the same thing, but I can't confirm until they get closer."_

Reyes didn't wait for confirmation. He turned to McCree and started planning. "Alright kid. United Nations is technically on our side, but they can't know of our involvement here. So, no killing, but also no letting them past. If word gets back to the Russians… Kossack is a dead man walking."

McCree nodded in understanding. "What approach do you wanna take? Intimidation?"

Reyes rubbed his bearded chin in thought, huffing at the stubby remains of his cigar. "Depends. We gotta know who it is that we're dealing with."

McCree and Reyes waited for Ana to feed them more information. Eventually she came back on the radio and shared her final observations. _"It's the United Nations alright. But it's no ordinary inspection crew. They sent the Blue Caps in, five of them. They're armed, and snooping around the main gate."_

McCree winced. Dealing with the United Nations Peacekeeping core was always a chore.

 _We could have intimidated unarmed weapons inspectors, but Blue Caps are soldiers._ McCree reminded himself. _They're disciplined. Armed. Determined. We won't be able to send them home easily._

"We have to fix this quick." Reyes observed. "If the War Dogs get to the Peacekeepers before we do, they might make a mess of things."

McCree unholstered his revolver and listened in as his superiors made plans. "Ana?" Reyes questioned. "Can you inform Morrison of our predicament? Let's see about calling in some favors at the U.N. Get these guys off our back."

Ana whispered a word of confirmation and left the radio channel. "McCree." Reyes ordered. "We're keeping the Blue Caps out of this compound. There's gonna' be some gun slingin', but no killing got it?"

McCree nodded and narrowed his eyes in thought. His tactical mind was racing away, imagining the confrontation in a dozen different ways.

 _We're starting a shootout with our allies. They don't know that we're on their side, so they'll be shooting to kill. We need to use suppressing fire. We need them take up a defensive position until Morrison gets them to turn around._ _We also can't let the War Dogs know there's a shootout right outside their compound. We need suppressors. Guerilla tactics._

McCree reached into his vest and found his revolver suppressor. He screwed on the bulky attachment, and trained his aim, trying to get used to the now top-heavy gun.

Beside him, Reyes clamped a giant shotgun choke-suppressor onto one of his _Hellfire_ shotguns. Combined with subsonic ammo, the shotgun would be hushed, but very ineffective.

"Ready?" McCree asked his commander.

"Always." Reyes replied. "You go around the left side, I'll go right. Let's start with a tire shoot."

McCree nodded and started jogging away from the stinky latrine. Around the perimeter fence he went, through thick undergrowth, and around wide trees. Soon, he had arrived at the War Dog's perimeter gate. McCree hid in some ferns. Out of sight, he observed his targets, thinking up different approaches for his situation.

 _Five blue caps. Standard fireteam._ McCree noted as he scanned the Blue Caps. _One team leader with a radio pack. One Grenadier rifleman. A point man with the shotgun. And two standard riflemen. No snipers, or counter snipers. Ana should be of some use here…_

McCree got on the ground, minimizing his silhouette against the undergrowth. Resting weight along his forearms and knees, he crawled through the undergrowth, closer to a dense patch of ferns growing along the dirt road. As he crawled, he took moments to observe the Blue Caps.

Four of the soldiers stood guard around the Jeep, crouched down to avoid being spotted from above the entry gate. A woman solider, the team leader McCree assumed, was using a camera to take photographs of the gate and surrounding compound. McCree got closer to the fern patch, and pulled out his revolver. He aimed it at the tire of the United Nations Jeep, and took a deep breath.

" _Ready Sir?"_ McCree whispered into his radio transceiver.

" _Fire when ready."_ Reyes deep voice replied.

McCree took another breath and aimed, letting hot breath flow out of his nose slowly. Through the Peacemaker's iron sights, he lined up a tire and pulled the trigger.

 _Boom!_

The tire released its air explosively. The United Nations Peacekeepers scattered, ducking for cover on the other site of the white Jeep.

"Shots fired! shots fired!" The Peacekeeper team leader said into her radio pack. "Requesting backup. Peacekeepers under fire, transport compromised!"

McCree cupped a hand around his ear, trying to listen in as the team leader conversed with the U.N. Peacekeeper HQ. He couldn't catch much of the conversation, but he understood that backup would be arriving soon.

He scanned the tree line across from the road. Reyes was probably hiding in the undergrowth on the other side, just like he was. No way to tell for sure.

" _Reyes. McCree."_ Ana said through the radio. _"Contacted Morrison, he's calling in some favors at the United Nations. The Peacekeepers should be ordered to retreat momentarily. We'll have to keep them busy until then."_

McCree looked for Reyes as he replied. _"Roger that. Do you have a good angle on the Jeep? Or are we on our own here?"_

" _I have a good angle."_ Ana replied. _"I can help if any of them get on the driver's side of the Jeep. On the passenger's side, where they are now, I can't see a thing."_

" _Alright."_ Reyes confirmed. _"McCree, sit tight. Ana, standby."_

McCree dug in and waited, lying motionless in his patch of ferns. Mosquitoes sucked blood from his neck, and a small snake slithered across a plant right by his arm. The U.N. Peacekeepers waited just as patiently, but they grew antsy after some time had passed.

"What is ETA on backup?" One of the riflemen asked the team leader.

The team leader didn't respond. McCree thought for a moment, and concluded that she was communicating with hand signals. Undoubtedly she was the most experienced solider of the bunch. She knew that her squad was being watched. She knew how crucial it was not to feed her enemy any information.

Unfortunately for the Peacekeepers, Reyes could read the hand signals from his vantage point on the other side of the road. _"She says the backup is coming in thirty minutes."_ Reyes informed them. _"I think this squad is a little green. They're talking about something. Whispering… I think they wanna go change the tire or something."_

McCree readied himself as one of the Blue Caps stood from a crouch. It was the point man. Armed with a giant automatic shotgun, he kept his head low, but steadily rounded the Jeep. He rested his weapon upon the hood, turning his head from side to side, searching all around for enemies and threats.

McCree watched him, and hugged the damp earth to stay hidden.

The point man motioned to a rifleman, who also started rounding the Jeep. Another solider tossed a smoke grenade under the vehicle. In a moment, the entire roadside was draped in a hazy chemical scented smoke.

" _They dropped smoke."_ Amari said, informing them of the obvious. _"I can't see a thing. Any idea on what's going on down there?"_

McCree listened intently. He could hear metallic clinking and hushed voices. "I think they're changing their tire." McCree informed the group. "I can hear 'em jacking the Jeep up in the smoke."

McCree suppressed a cough. The chemical smoke wafted down the roadside, through the ferns, and into the forest behind him. He covered his mouth and nose with his red bandana again, filtering some of the vapor.

" _Reyes?"_ Captain Amari called through the radio _. "Any idea on what they plan to accomplish here? Why are they changing the tire?"_

There was static on the line for a moment, then Reyes rough voice materialized. _"If they're this intent on fixing the Jeep, it must be important to their mission. They might try to ram the gate or something, I can't be sure."_

"They might just retreat." McCree noted. "If they fix the tire they might just drive back the way they came."

" _Possible."_ Reyes admitted. _"But normally, Peacekeepers always wait for backup. These guys seem to be in a rush. I'm afraid they might be trying to find a certain someone inside this compound."_

" _Right."_ Amari responded. _"We can't be sure of their intentions. We need to keep the Peacekeepers suppressed until their reinforcements arrive. Hopefully Morrison's favor will convince them to leave by then."_

McCree agreed on the plan and waited. After a few moments, the smoke faded away, and the five peacekeepers retreated to the other side of the Jeep. McCree could see that the tire change had taken longer than expected. The Jeep was resting on three tires and a road jack. The shot-out tire had been removed, but its replacement tire was resting on the dirt road, yet to be affixed.

 _Shouldn't have taken them that long to change a tire._ McCree observed. _The smoke protected them from being shot at, but it also hindered them from seeing what they were doing._

" _Looks like their smoke grenade didn't last long enough."_ Reyes informed the group. _"Looks like our Peacekeepers can't change a tire blind. I can see them prepping another one though. McCree, see if you can do something about it this time."_

McCree readied his Peacemaker. He could see the Peacekeeper's boots from under the Jeep. Soon, they would roll another smoke grenade under the Jeep. This time he would be ready.

 _Just like a skeet shoot._ McCree thought. _The second they throw that grenade, I'm blasting it outta here._

McCree readied himself. He heard the recognizable sound of a pin being pulled from a grenade.

 _Tink. Tink. Tink. Poof!_

The grenade bounced under the Jeep, washing the undercarriage in a blanket of smoke. McCree followed the cylindrical device in his iron sights and lined up the shot.

 _Tink!_

McCree shot the smoke grenade, sending it flying out from under the Jeep, over into the undergrowth where Reyes was concealed.

 _Boom! Boom! Boom!_

McCree bit his tongue as three shotgun blasts shredded the ferns all around him. The Blue Cap point man rested his shotgun over the Jeep's hood, looking for any signs of movement.

"More smoke!" One of the soldiers shouted. "Someone in the bushes!"

McCree hugged the ground and whispered into his radio transceiver. "Position compromised. More smoke inbound."

He stayed as still as possible as the Blue Caps readied another smoke grenade. This time they tossed it over the Jeep, arcing it high into the air.

 _Cra-Bang!_

Ana's sniper rifle made a sharp retort as a well-placed bullet shredded the smoke grenade.

 _Boom! Boom! Boom!_

The point man fired three shotgun blasts into the tree line, roughly towards where Ana's shot came from.

 _Cra-Bang!_

The shotgun exploded into shards of metal, as Ana made a direct hit on the weapon. The point man screamed in pain, as scraps of his shotgun had flown into his arm and face. The other Peacekeepers pulled the man back behind the Jeep, and did their best to shush him.

* * *

It was late night now. A full moon hung in the sky, illuminating the jungle floor with a soft milky light. Insects chirped. Mosquitos and locusts buzzed by. Small nocturnal animals leapt about in the trees, and pattered along the forest floor.

McCree had long ago crawled away from his fern bush hideout. Back behind the tree line, he was much more comfortable hiding behind a fallen tree.

 _How long has it been?_ McCree wondered. _The_ _War Dogs took the Blue Caps hostage hours ago. Is their backup coming? What happened to Kossack?_

McCree thought about those events sleepily. The gunshots had alerted the War Dogs to the Peacekeepers at their gate. Unsure of who or what the Blue Caps were shooting at, the mercenaries had confiscated the U.N. Jeep, and all five of the Peacekeepers.

 _Vroom-vroom!_

McCree blinked away his thoughts as another United Nations Jeep rolled down the dirt road to the compound.

The Jeep stopped outside the gate. Wordlessly, five blue caps exited the vehicle. Four soldiers took up positions around the car. The fifth, who appeared to be a United Nations Battalion Commander, lifted his hands to show that he was unarmed. He took a step forward, and continued down the road, right up to the War Dogs main compound gate.

McCree peered around his fallen tree trunk, turning his head ever so slowly to follow the U.N. General. At the War Dog's gate, three mercenaries stood watch, brandishing automatic rifles and shotguns.

"Why did you come?" One of the War Dog's demanded.

"To get our Jeep and Men." The Blue Cap General replied.

"Before that. Why did you come to our compound?" Another mercenary asked. "Why did you send this woman to take photos?"

The General didn't say a word. Things grew tense as he crossed his hands and stared down the mercenaries.

" _If this escalates."_ Reyes rumbled into the radio. _"Remember who's side we're on. Protect the peacekeepers, then get out."_

McCree readied his Peacekeeper. He leaned against his tree trunk and pointed his weapon at the gate.

Things remained tense for a time, until the War Dogs ended the standoff.

"Fine." The first War Dog spat. "Take the Jeep. Take the woman and her men. Don't send them back."

The compound gates slid open. Five blue caps exited, their hands cuffed behind their backs. The original white Jeep was pushed out of the compound, skidding along on only three tires. Once all the United Nations personal and equipment had been recovered, the Blue Caps fixed their tire and drove off, down the road and back into irrelevance.

"So." McCree whispered into his radio. "Where the hell is Kossack? Did he get stuck in there?"

McCree listened as static filtered through his earpiece. Ana Amari and Gabriel Reyes had probably switched channels. He assumed that something important or private was being discussed, and they didn't want him privy.

McCree took off his hat and fiddled with the embedded radio transceiver. He knew that he shouldn't ease drop, but his curiosity got the better of him.

McCree flipped the tuning dial on his radio transceiver. He winced as the radio flew down frequencies, hissing and screeching as it dialed past far away radio stations and omnic tuning signals. Eventually he found a channel with a familiar sounding voice.

" _What do you mean 'buying time!?'_ " Morrison shouted into the channel. _"I called up the United Nations! If you hadn't revealed yourselves, they would've left within the hour!"_

" _They were collecting evidence!"_ Reyes replied hotly. _"Someone tipped them off. They were looking for someone or something! If they'd snooped around much longer, Kossack would've been caught!"_

" _Evidence!? Looking for someone!?"_ Morrison asked incredulously. _"They were inspecting for illegal logging! They were looking for fucking planks of wood Reyes! And you shot at them!"_

" _How was I to know that!? You told us to guard Kossack from prying eyes! That's what we did!"_

Morrison and Reyes continued arguing. McCree was mildly surprised by how… _unprofessional_ the two men were acting.

 _This isn't a workplace dispute._ McCree realized. _Reyes and Morrison are friends. This is bickering. A family dispute almost…_

" _Can you argue later?"_ Ana Amari interrupted. _"What about Kossack? What is his status? Or have you 'children' forgotten about the mission objectives?"_

There was silence on the comms. McCree sensed that Morrison and Reyes didn't like being called children, even if they deserved it.

The men took a moment to collect themselves, and continued conversing in a more _businesslike_ tone.

" _The War Dogs are holding him."_ Morrison informed the group. _"They suspect that someone in the United Nations has a grudge against 'Vladimer Vokoshka,' the Russian businessman that Kossack is posing as. They're keeping him hostage for a few days, but it appears they'll still take on our contract."_

" _So their holding him hostage, but still taking on his job?"_ Amari clarified. _"That seems a little… fishy don't you think?"_

" _A little."_ Morrison admitted _. "Kossack remains confident in them, so we'll continue as planned for now."_

There was another lull in the conversation. The radio hissed static in the absence of communication, and for a moment, McCree thought that the Big Three had changed radio channels again.

" _No Kossack."_ Reyes said after a while. _"We're a man down for the rest of our mission. Who's gonna fill his place?"_

Morrison replied. _"I'll pick up the slack myself. I was originally planning on directing this operation from afar, but it looks like I'll have to get my hands dirty this time."_

" _Do we tell the rest of the team?"_ Captain Amari asked.

" _No."_ replied Morrison. _"I don't want any of our team losing sleep over this… mistake. We'll continue the mission as planned. Only difference is that Ana must take up my role as Mission Dispatch Officer."_

Ana hummed disapprovingly. _"I can't provide sniper support and dispatch at the same time Jack."_

Morrison muttered a word of acknowledgement, but dismissed her concerns _. "We'll figure it out tomorrow."_ He said. _"For now let's just get out of here and back to the ship."_

Amari confirmed with a simple, _"Roger."_ and dialed off the channel. Morrison followed suit, leaving the channel empty except for Reyes.

" _McCree?"_ Reyes called into the empty channel. _"You listening in?"_

McCree almost dropped his radio transceiver in surprise. He hadn't expected Reyes to be aware of his airway ease dropping.

 _Eh, who am I kidding._ McCree admitted to himself. _It's Gabriel Reyes. Can't pull a fast one on him._

"Yeah, I'm here Sir." McCree replied into the radio.

" _Good."_ Reyes replied nonchalantly. _"You'd be a piss poor agent if you weren't listening in."_

McCree listened to his commanding officer suspiciously. His tone was off. There was something bitter and cold in his voice. Subtle, but present enough to feel under the hiss of radio static.

" _I'm going to assume you heard most of our conversation_." Reyes rumbled on. _"So, I just wanted to ask you something. What did you think of this? This whole 'calamity'? This whole… 'problem' we just had? United Nations Peacekeepers just randomly snooping around a mercenary core compound, just when we show up? Isn't that a little odd? It is right? Do you think we made the right call?"_

McCree struggled to keep up. Reyes was firing off a lot of questions all at once.

"I think we made the right call." McCree conceded after a moment. "If we hadn't stopped the Blue Caps… the War Dogs might have made a mess of things. Kossack might have been compromised."

There was silence on the radio. McCree wondered if he had given the right answer.

" _We made a mess of things anyway."_ Reyes said slowly. _"But it wasn't necessarily our fault. That damned trigger-happy point man. He's the one who alerted the Dogs. We were handling things fine up until then. Should've just shot him."_

McCree didn't say anything. He wasn't sure where this odd conversation was going.

" _Jack."_ Reyes continued. _"He doesn't get it anymore. Not like he used to. He's spent too much time behind his damned desk, pushing paperwork for administration. He doesn't remember the heat of a fight. He can't understand anymore. Not like you and I."_

"I understand Sir." McCree replied as formally as possible. He wasn't comfortable talking about Jack Morrison behind his back. Even after all that had happened with Angela, he still held some respect for the man.

" _Well. Good to know that someone gets it."_ Reyes concluded. _"It looks like Jack is going to join us for the rest of our mission tomorrow. It'll be good to see him in action again. We'll get to see just how soft he's gone… Right?"_

McCree tried to think of a good answer, but Reyes dialed off the channel, ending the conversation in a blast of static.

* * *

 **Next Chapter** : I done fucked up. **  
**

Remember how I promised to release two chapters this week? Well guess what. I left Chapter 20 on a flash drive on the other side of the country. :"(

I'm working on Chapter 21 in the meantime, but this really puts a brick in my timing. Chapter 20 still needs to be edited and formatted, and I have midterm exams next week. I'll do my very best to get a Chapter out this week somehow, and I apologize for letting all of you down again.

* * *

 _ **"Never, with them on guard, need you fear for your stalls a midnight thief, or onslaught of wolves, or Iberian brigands at your back."**_ **-Virgil**


	20. Chapter 21: BloodLust

**Back in the Saddle, Again**

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 **AN: This is the eleventh Jesse McCree (POV) Chapter. Thanks for reading!**

 **I'm aware that this chapter is out of order. Read Authors Note for more info. (If you've been following this story for a while, you may want to read the Author's note first.)  
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 **Chapter 21: Bloodlust**

Among a patch of tall savanna grass, three men waited. McCree knelt, picking pesky prickly seeds off of his wide brimmed hat. To his side, Jack Morrison sat. He twisted at a few blades of grass, weaving them into a thatch basket the size of a cup. Behind them, Reyes paced impatiently. His heavy steps crushed the dry grass, filling the otherwise quiet morning with crinkling and crackling.

 _What's taking so long?_ McCree wondered. _Is Angela holding Captain Amari up? Did the sniper team run into trouble?_

McCree suspected that the correct thought was the more mundane of the two. He hoped that Angela was proving herself, but his gut told him that the opposite might be true.

 _We only had a week_. He reminded himself. _She can't be expected to hold her own. Yet…_

McCree waited for a while more, and decided to air his question. He knew there weren't any answers, but he needed someone to say something. They had been waiting in silence for far too long.

"What's taking Captain Amari so long?" He asked as innocently as he could. "Any word from the sniper team?"

"None." Reyes grumbled angrily. "Ana's never been one for sticking to the schedule."

Morrison chuckled and plucked another blade of dry grass. "You're one to talk. You've been late to more administrative meetings than everyone else on the council combined. Hell, you skipped so many we cut you outta the roll call."

Reyes paced a little faster. "Admin meetings don't count. You know I skip those on purpose."

Morrison chuckled again and didn't press the issue. McCree had noticed he'd been avoiding conflict with Reyes. The trio continued procrastinating as the sun inched higher and higher over the horizon.

 _Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!_

Everyone snapped to attention as Commander Morrison's radio transceiver buzzed to life. The commander dialed in and broadcasted the incoming message to the team's earpieces.

" _Enemy in sight. Prepare for mission commence."_ Angela said through the radio.

McCree blinked and almost dropped his hat in surprise. _Angela?_ What was she doing manning the radio dispatch?

Reyes seemed irritated, but Morrison ignored him. "Ground team is ready. Spring trap when ready."

" _Acknowledged."_ Angela replied. The radio died again. McCree thought about how odd it was hearing Angela's soft melodic voice instead of Morrison's crisp rapport.

 _Cra-Bang_!

A shot rang out from above the valley. Despite knowing that the fire was friendly, McCree instinctively ducked and cringed. Something about far off sniper fire always got to him. Some primal fear that made him want to hide from an unseen hunter.

The trio waited and readied their weapons as the grassland came to life. Men shouted in the distance. Softer gunshots rang out in all directions as the enemy tried to flush out the sniper.

 _Cra-Bang!_

McCree winced as another shot rang out. This time a barrage of gunfire erupted in response.

"Let's move out!" Morrison shouted over the sounds of battle. "Stay low, and go around the fighting. Meet up at the silo if we split up!"

Without another word, he dashed into the grass. McCree unholstered his Peacemaker revolver and broke out into a run after him. Commander Morrison was fast and lithe, and McCree had a hard time keeping up as he darted between layers of thick grass. Reyes, the largest and slowest of the bunch had an even harder time. McCree could hear him huff and swear as he tried to keep up.

The mad dash continued as the sounds of gunfire and shouting grew thicker. Captain Amari's sniper rifle made a sharp retort every now and then, but her rate of fire seemed to be falling. McCree assumed that the enemy had zeroed in on her position, and had finally started applying effective suppressing fire.

McCree pumped his legs as hard as he could. He was heaving with effort now. His legs were aching in protest, and his feet became heavier with each step. The silo became closer and closer. Soon they were in the shadow of the towering building, still hidden from sight behind tall grass. Morrison was long gone by now, but it was easy enough to follow the path he'd trampled into the brush.

McCree followed the trail, slowing to a jog and hunching over to lower his profile. Reyes caught up to him and crept along behind him. Together they rounded the silo, following Morrison's path to a garage entrance cut into the silo wall.

"Late as usual Reyes." Morrison jested from within. "And you say _I'm_ the one who's outta shape."

Reyes stumbled into the garage, bent over, and heaved as he caught his breath.

"Alright!" He gasped. "You're _fast_ Jack I remember. We'll see how _slick_ you are when we get in back into the thick of things."

"Wanna bet?" Morrison challenged. "I'm game if you are."

Reyes eyed Morrison suspiciously, but broke out into a rare smile. "Fine. What's the wager?"

"First one outta here buys the expensive stuff at the Officer's Lounge." Morrison offered. "The _really_ expensive stuff. The stuff that even Lindholm can't afford with all his gun running money."

"No deal!" Reyes chuckled. "We've already established that you're faster than me. What if… first man to draw blood?"

Morrison winced and shook his head. "I never did like betting on blood. Kinda morbid in my book. And it's too… spontaneous anyway. I want something more… _competitive_."

Reyes hummed in agreement and motioned to McCree. "How about we let McCree pick. What should be bet over rookie?"

McCree rubbed his chin and thought. He could see was Morrison was doing here. If there was one thing Reyes loved it was getting competitive with Jack, and _winning_. For Morrison, this bet was a way to get back onto Gabriel's good side. A way to brush off the hostility and anger that had driven a wedge between them last night. With a bit of friendly competition, Morrison probably hoped to get a fresh start. To renew his friendship and cast away doubts.

McCree thought for a moment and flicked a piece of grass off his riding leathers. His hand brushed over his vest pocket, and suddenly an idea popped into his head.

"How about a game of dog tags?" McCree offered. "Whoever has the most enemy ID's at the end of the mission wins. Winner gets this…"

McCree reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a Sherriff's badge.

"Looser has to wear this…" McCree pulled out a Deputy's badge. "Looser has to call the winner Sherriff for the rest of the mission. Sherriff gets to call the Deputy… Deupty."

Morrison nodded in approval, and Reyes seemed to get a kick out of the idea. "I'm in as long as Deputy still pays for booze." Reyes rumbled.

"Deal." Morrison agreed. "McCree you're getting in on this too right?"

"Sure, I'll play too."

Morrison picked up his rifle and beckoned. "Alright squad, let's try to find our way down. Intel says there's a disguised elevator in here."

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McCree shook a stone in his hand, feeling it's weight. He took aim at the last overhead light and threw it as hard as he could. The light sparked and shattered satisfyingly, plunging the silo garage into a deep black darkness.

"Good throw." Morrison complimented. "Everyone ready?"

"Ready." Said Reyes.

"Ready." Said McCree.

Morrison nodded and whispered into his radio.

"Dispatch this is infiltration team. Making our way down now. We'll make a check in if we find some comms. below, but expect radio silence."

" _Roger that."_ Came Angela's soft voice _. "Captain Amari asks that you don't take too long. Things are getting quiet up here. A little too slow she says. Something doesn't… feel right about it she says."_

McCree eyed Morrison. It was impossible to tell in the dark, but he could almost sense Morrison's signature scowl. The strike commander wasn't one for superstition, but even he respected Ana's… _feelings_.

"Roger that. We'll be quick. Over and out."

Morrison clicked off his radio and turned on his tactical visor. He took a breath and reached for a rack of tools hanging on the side of a giant concrete column. Ever so carefully he felt the tools on the rack. A shiny chrome wrench. A moldy old rake. A rusty spade.

The Commander pulled on a saw and paused. "This is it."

McCree readied his Peacemaker and gave a thumb up. By his side, Reyes mirrored him.

Morrison pulled on the tool and sprang back as a mechanism clicked. Soon a deep rumbling began. The men braced themselves. The atmosphere grew tense as the rumbling grew louder and closer. The ground was vibrating up and down. The sounds of turning gears and straining chords grew louder and louder.

Just when McCree was sure the entire silo would come down around them, the tool rack slid to the side, revealing a pair of shiny steel doors. The doors slid open. Instantly two enemies charged out, weapons primed.

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

 _Boom! Boom! Boom!_

McCree, Morrison, and Reyes exchanged fire with the enemies. One man crumpled as the bullets hit him, he slid down onto the ground and screamed in pain. The other man made it a bit further, spraying bullets through an automatic pulse rifle. A burst from Morrison's rifle legged him. An additional blast from Reyes Hellfire shotgun sent him sprawling backwards. He landed face down, a motionless heap of bloody viscera and gore.

The thunderous roar of gunfire echoed around the hollow silo, growing softer with each reverberation. McCree listened to the sound intently _._

 _Been a while since I killed a man._

The heat of a fight. The screams of a dying enemy. The sticky metallic smell of blood mixed with gun smoke. There was something sickeningly pleasing about it. Some deep pleasure that emanated from within his twisted heart.

" _Why did they have to die?" McCree had asked._

" _They had what we wanted." Goldwater had replied. "Isn't that reason enough?"_

" _We didn't have to kill them. We could have tied em' up. Left em' out here for the buzzards."_

 _Goldwater spit into the dirt and turned around. McCree braced himself. He should've known better. You didn't speak out of turn when Jason Goldwater was leading the raid._

 _Goldwater came close. The taller man towered over him, his huge magnum revolver glistened in the New Mexico sun. "I killed em' because I wanted to. I didn't need their… pathetic little… lives. But I wanted them all the same. It's… the pleasure. The pleasure of taking something from a man as he begs and pleads… and fights… to hold onto what's so dear so him…"_

 _Goldwater took a step back. He took a deep breath, shuddering with pleasure. "I like killing. And I think you like it too."_

 _McCree avoided eye contact. He shook his head and tried to retreat into his mind. The other Deadlocks were staring now. McCree felt alone._

" _I saw your face." Goldwater whispered. "It was filled with… Joy…. The pure honest to god joy that comes from killin'."_

 _McCree shook his head. He raised his eyes and met Goldwater's gaze. "You're wrong."_

 _Goldwater grabbed him by the collar. He lifted him up off the ground, holding him captive with his deranged gaze. "There's a killer in you. Don't you deny it boy. Men like me. Boys like you. We were made for this kinda thing. For killin'. For slaughter."_

 _Goldwater dropped him. McCree tried to keep his balance, but he stumbled and fell._

" _You've still got a lot to learn. But trust me kid. Someday some sap is gonna wander across your deadeye. And when you blow his guts out. You're gonna like it."_

McCree tried to shake away the phantoms. He blinked and took off his hat. He brushed a hand through his hair and hoped that Reyes and Morrison wouldn't notice his absence.

 _He was right._ McCree realized _. I do like it._

McCree took his time holstering his Peacemaker. He put his hat back on and joined Reyes and Morrison as they inspected the bodies.

"These aren't villagers." Reyes observed. "He was healthy. Look at those teeth. And his size. He didn't miss any meals."

Morrison nodded reached down the dead man's uniform. He found the enemy's dog tags and pulled at them violently. The body shook for a moment, but the tags snapped off their chains.

"Baba Yetuling." Morrison read. "27 years old, from… Numbani."

Reyes walked over the other body and tried to find his dog tags in the bloody mess. "Numbani." Reyes said. "That doesn't add up with our intel."

McCree nodded in agreement and decided to think aloud. He had to do something to keep his mind busy. The smell of blood and gun smoke was… _still_ … stirring within him.

"Intel said that this facility was being run by a _local_ arms dealer." McCree reminded the group. "Numbani ain't exactly local."

"Right." Morrison agreed. "Find anything on yours Reyes?"

Reyes held up a bloody dog tag. A shotgun pellet had transformed it into little more than a metal shard. "That's one for one." He said. "though I'm pretty sure McCree shot that one Jack. It's his tag, not yours."

Morrison nodded and handed over the tag. McCree hesitated for a moment, but reached out and accepted it.

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The elevator hummed as it descended down the shaft. The lift was a big thing. Ten by ten feet at least. Big enough for Reyes to pace, McCree to practice his gun spinning, and for Morrison to think as he browsed intel on his tactical visor.

"How far down does this go?" McCree asked idly.

"Too far." Reyes rumbled. "This must be a nuclear bunker or something. Why else would they bore this deep?"

"It's not that." Morrison said. "No point in building a bunker here."

"What is this then?" Reyes shot back. "McCree is right. We're in deep. Too deep for this to be a drug runner's hideout or an arms dealers stash."

"True." Morrison admitted. "This whole place is too well kept. These aren't criminals we're dealing with."

"An organization then?" McCree asked. "A government maybe? You sure we didn't just waltz into some CIA black site?"

Morrison started to respond, but was cut off by a jolt in the descent.

"Approaching Level A." A robotic voice said. "Please standby for disinfection protocol."

Suddenly, four sprinklers descended from the roof of the elevator. They hissed and began pumping out a clear vapor.

McCree untied his red bandana and used it to cover his face. He pinched his nose and covered his mouth up from over the cloth. Reyes and Morrison covered up as best they could too, backing away into the corners of the confined space, as far as they could get from the sprinklers. The elevator doors opened a moment later, and all three men darted out as fast as they could.

They stumbled into an expansive room. Taller than the highest point of Watchpoint Gibraltar, and wider than the length of Captain Amari's biggest ship, the room stretched on for what seemed to be miles in every direction. Giant steel shipping containers filled the room, stacked into pyramids that went up at least a hundred feet. The whole room was completely silent save for the humming of the giant electric lamps that hung from the ceiling.

"Holy shit." McCree muttered.

Morrison, Reyes, and McCree stepped away from the elevator deeper into the chamber. Their boots echoed as the walked along the polished concrete floor. The clicking and clanking of their gear seemed to be painfully loud in the silence.

"Control room." Morrison whispered. "Split up and find it."

The Strike Commander tapped McCree's shoulder and pointed down a row of shipping container pyramids. McCree nodded and set out in that direction. He walked slowly at first, hoping to dampen the tell-tale jingle jangle of his spurred boots. But as he made his way down the rows and rows of shipping containers, he realized that he was truly alone.

McCree broke into a brisk jog, turning his head as he passed steel containers. He made his way down the row for what seemed like an hour, but no progress was made. The pyramids of stacked shipping containers stretched out into the horizon, never deviating from their uniform pattern.

McCree ended his jog and took a moment to catch his breath. He decided that he was going to head back now. There was no "control room" out here. Just miles and miles of boxes.

 _What's in these things anyway?_ He wondered. _Who needs all this shit? Why keep so much of it?_

McCree looked around one last time. Sensing no prying eyes, he walked over to the nearest shipping container and eyed its freight doors.

 _Run of the mill stuff… regular four bar freight lock…. I'll have this open no problem at all._

McCree reached into his vest and found his combat knife. He shimmied the blade behind one of the bar locks and got to work on cutting open the plastic backplate.

 _I used to be so fast._ He remembered. _Used to camp out at the Clovis train yard. Hide in the boxcars all day. And then at night… pop the locks. Get the goods. Be gone in a flash before the engineer had a damn clue._ He smiled at the memory. _Thieving was my childhood. Seemed so harmless then. Little did I know_ …

McCree cut off the backplate and exposed the lock mechanism. He stuck his knife in and fiddled with the pins. He got the knife to the right position and pulled.

 _Click!_

The lock disengaged, and the shipping container door relaxed. McCree pulled it open, and coughed as a sweet spicy smell flooded out of the container. McCree tried to walk into the container, but his eyes watered, and he coughed again. Something in there made his throat itch. It bothered his skin too.

McCree backed out of the dark container, but kept the door propped open. He rubbed his eyes and took a few breaths of clean air. Once he had recovered, he rummaged around in his combat vest and found a mini flashlight.

Clicking it on, he illuminated the inside of the shipping container from a distance. The container was full of small tanks. White and yellow in color, they were stacked neatly along the sides of the vessel. On the back of the door, McCree noticed a sign.

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 **BIOHAZARD: SULFUR MUSTARD GAS** | Contains: Bis(2-chloroethyl)sulfide | Bis-(2-chloroethylthio)-methane | Bis-(2-chloroethylthioethyl)-ether | 1,2-Bis-(2-chloroethylthio)-ethane

 **DANGER** : WEAPONS GRADE CHEMICAL AGENT | HANDLE WITH EXTREME CARE

 **IF** **EXPOSED** : SEEK MEDICAL ATTENTION IMMEDIATELY. COMPOUNDS ARE: CORROSIVE, CARCINOGENIC, MUTANOGENIC, VESICANT…

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McCree felt his heart stop. He held his breath and backed away.

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 **Authors Notes** : This one is for you Melon567. I literally finished this chapter after I read your review.

Alright guys. I promised to deliver two chapters this week and dammit, I'm gonna at least TRY to uphold some of that promise. Here's what happened. I had Chapter 20 about halfway done, and I was going to finish it up and publish it last Monday. Why didn't that happen? Well, I left Chapter 20 in a USB flash drive half a country away. So unfortunately chapter 20 is going to be missing in action for quite some time. (And it is supposed to be a very important chapter. One of the most important in the story for Angela. So I refuse to rush it, or put out some half baked crap.)

I'll try my best to release Chapter 20 sometime this month. But no promises. I have midterm exams this month, and tuition comes before Fanfiction I'm afraid.

 **Chapter Release** : **I'm going to officially put the story into Hiatus once I release chapter 20 this month. From there, the story will receive no new updates until May. Starting in May, I'll start pumping out chapters again regularly.** The story WILL be finished. I promised to finish it and I will.

 **Updates** : 4/11/2017: The new in game event changes EVERYTHING! I'm so excited! We get some background lore finally! I'm going to postpone releasing chapter 20 until I can analyze the new lore and incorporate it into my story. As I stated from the beginning of this fanfic, I want this story to be as lore friendly as possible. The new Overwatch Mercy skin changes a lot, and her new hairstyle! OMG! I gotta add that in too! And McCree with his badass blackwatch outfit! I gotta add that in too!

SPOILERS: Genji was going to be a part of Act III, but I'm going to have to change that a tiny bit now. (I had no idea he was in Blackwatch too! So exciting!)

 **Update 5/18/2017:** I don't know guys. I'm kinda devastated now. The uprising update was fun and all but it changed the official Overwatch lore so much that I'm not sure I can salvage this FanFic. Hell I don't even want to "salvage" this story at all now. I wanted this story to be lore friendly, something that could have actually happened between McCree and Mercy. But now... it doesn't make sense at all. All the clues and foreshadowing I put into the mystery plot of the story doesn't add up at all now.

For example, consider McCree's new Blackwatch skin. He's wearing all black (Not the classic red bandana I expected.) He's got a Blackwatch badge on his belt and hat instead of the classic McCree look I constantly described throughout the story. He uses a black spec ops revolver instead of his classic chrome peacemaker. (Seems minor, but McCree and his gun are interwoven into each other. McCree is kinda a hired gun in this story. Getting his gun right is a big deal for me metaphorically.)

And the biggest glaring problem that makes this story impossible now. THE FUCKING TATTOO! McCree has a DeadLock Gang tattoo clearly on his left arm! I wrote McCree as a scarred character who was haunted by his past with the gang. In my story he was supposed to have regretted his actions, reminded by his time with the gang by daily pains from the injury in his arm. But on the Blackwatch skin he has a Deadlock Tattoo showing off to the world loud and proud that he was part of the gang, and that he has no regrets about being a killer outlaw.

Then there's Combat Medic Mercy. (I'll admit I'm really proud that I predicted that Mercy would start out as a combat medic.) Mercy's uniform is all different than what I described in my story, but that's kinda a minor thing. What threw me off was her clearly obvious relationship with Genji. (I'm 99% sure Genji x Mercy is cannon now.) Of the two Blackwatch Agents, Mercy seems a lot more invested in her cyborg pet project Genji than with the dark and lonesome McCree. I mean look at that one scene from the comics where Winston and Mercy watch Genji and Tracer go at it like pokemons. She's clearly more interested in Genji than McCree, and that kinda kills my mood.

Then there's Reyes and Morrison. For one thing I'm very proud of the fact that I somewhat accurately predicted what the conflict between Reyes and Morrison looked like before the cannon made it official. (Morrison tied up with red tape and diplomatic bullshit while Reyes does whatever the fuck he wants without worrying about consequence.) What throws me off is how Reyes voice sounded in the Uprising brawl. It was nothing like the dark and gravely voice I had imagined. Instead he sounded like a regular American GI Joe. It's a very minor thing but it threw me off.

Anyway, the shifts in the lore threw off my plans for Act III a lot more than I initially thought they would. I'm not really sure that I should continue writing this story now. I wanted to write this story in my own vision within the world that Blizzard made. If I do continue the story, I'll probably not go through the process of retconning everything that I've already wrote. Not sure what I'll do. Leave a review if you have anything to say guys. I'm sorry I let you all down.

Update 6/8/2017

Ugggghhhhhhhh...

I really wanna finish this story. I wanna finish it so bad. But the lore! I keep rereading the chapters I wrote and I'm so ticked off by all the lore inconstancy now! I'm going to make a copy of the entire Fanfic so far and go through and try to correct EVERYTHING to make this lore friendly again. THEN I'll try to write some new chapters and finish this puppy up.

I've been thinking about it, and I just don't think it is possible for me to finish Act III the way I originally envisioned it, so I'm hoping that I come up with some good ideas as I go back through the chapters.

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 **"These Things, They Take Time." -Gabe Newell**


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